Belly of the Whale
by Marla Fair
Summary: 14 year old Joe Cartwright was just trying to do something nice for a friend. Older brother Adam didn't see it that way. An argument between brothers sets off a series of events that turns into an unstoppable torrent of trouble which leaves one of Ben Cartwright's sons with a terrible task to perform, and another near death, trapped in the Belly of the Whale.
1. Prologue

Belly of the Whale

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Prologue

 _I went down to the bottoms of the mountains; the earth with her bars was about me for ever: yet hast thou brought up my life from corruption, O Lord my God. Jonah 2:6:_

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A shovel driven down, lifting, hefting, tossing. Not an unusual sound. It happened frequently around a ranch – manure flung in the barn, grain being struck and winnowed, weeds in the field or garden cut down and tossed in a pile along with the dirt that held them. It was the sound of good clean hard work. Yes, that's what it normally was.

Not today.

Oh, no. Not today.

Each shovelful of earth that struck the ground before him jolted twenty-seven year old Adam Cartwright with the force of a bullet penetrating flesh. The sound carried with it the same white-hot fire, the same sense of being torn apart – the same sick-in-the-gut-terror that something had entered that wasn't supposed to and something irreplaceable had been carried out on the other side.

He glanced at the hole in the ground.

Something irreplaceable had been carried out, all right.

Adam passed a hand before his eyes, swatting at the darkness that refused to go away. Then he glanced at his younger brother, Hoss, who stood on the other side of their father. Hoss' giant hand was anchored on their pa's shoulder, linking the two of them in their despair. Adam sighed. _He_ stood apart as he always stood apart, driven by that _thing_ inside him that insisted he remain cool, collected – in control. He should offer that same touch – a touch of comfort to the man who gave him life. But he knew if he did that control would crack and then Pa would have another son to grieve over – not just the one already lost – but a living _breathing_ dead man.

Another shovelful of dirt was taken up and tossed aside. The man was careless. Several clods tumbled back into the open grave to strike the top of the ugly pine box that had just been revealed; the one meant for a pauper that cradled a prince instead.

 _Thud._

Joe was dead.

 _Thud._

Stubborn, mule-headed, _damned_ -if _-I'll-listen-to-you-older-brother_ ; beautiful, brilliant, irreplaceable Joe.

 _Thud._

Joe. His kid brother who'd been so angry with him; who'd fled the ranch in a fit of blazing hot anger that drove all notion of _kin_ aside.

 _Thud._

Joe, who'd chosen strangers over his own, running away, disappearing, never to be seen again.

 _Thud._

Until now.

Adam shuddered as another shovelful of dirt hit the ground, some of it scattering and brushing his boots. Pa insisted once they knew. Adam breathed deep. Once they'd been _told_ what happened, Pa insisted. He had to see his son.

Had to touch Joe one last time.

Pa was looking down into the grave, at that damned pine box, as the man reached for the lid. Adam turned aside. _He_ couldn't. He didn't want to see, because he knew what he _would_ see. When he closed his eyes in the empty years to come, he wanted the image behind them to be his little brother laughing and snorting and fighting and shouting, not some bloated corpse with blackened lips and staring eyes.

God.

Joe...

Adam glanced over his shoulder at the tree where the ropes still dangled, cut in stark silhouette against the horizon. The sheriff of Genoa was there, watching them, and about half of the citizenry of the town. They didn't know the name of Cartwright. They didn't know how impossible it was that his little brother had shot and killed the manager of the new Genoa City Bank and robbed it, callously stealing their sweat and blood.

Blood. This was _his_ blood.

Joe was dead.

He was only fourteen.


	2. Chapter 1

PART ONE

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 _For thou hadst cast me into the deep, in the midst of the seas; and the floods compassed me about: all thy billows and thy waves passed over me. Jonah 2:3_

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ONE

"Stay put."

"And don't get into trouble."

"I mean it, Joe. Don't move from this spot until we get back."

"Do you understand?"

"Joe?"

What was it about a nodding head that older brother Adam just didn't seem capable of understanding?

"Joe, answer me!"

The boy with the curly brown hair whirled in the buckboard seat to face the man in black. A forced smile on his face, he saluted smartly.

"Yes, sir! Captain Adam, sir! I'll keep my butt glued to this here wagon seat and I won't move from this here spot until I see the whites of those there eyes again, and I _won't_ get into any trouble, and I won't smile at anyone or have any fun or enjoy coming to town at all. _Sir!"_

Older brother Adam sighed.

Joe hated it when he did that.

It reminded him too much of Pa.

"Joe, it's not that I don't want you to enjoy your visit to town. It's just that – "

His curly head wagged. "...that you're a boy and Virginia City's no place for a boy to go roaming by himself 'cause he can get into all kind's of trouble with a capital 'T'." Joe rolled his eyes. "I've heard that speech so many times, big brother, that I can recite it in my sleep."

"Maybe it'd be a good thing if you did, little brother," his other sibling remarked as Hoss dropped a heavy load in the back of the wagon making both it and him jump. "Since it seems hearin' it durin' the day ain't makin' it sink in so's you can tell."

Joe did everything in his power to avoid looking crushed. But he was crushed. Middle brother, Hoss, his soul mate and partner in crime had turned twenty-one last year and just as quickly turned on him. What happened to that big giant of a brother who used to back him up? The one who helped him pay older _high-and-mighty you-don't-nothing_ brother Adam back when he got too big for his college-educated britches? The one who at least let him raise Heck if not quite making it to Hell?

"Hoss and I are going to go over to the saloon for _one_ beer, Joe. Just one It'll take maybe ten minutes," Adam said as he rounded the wagon and stepped into the street. "I expect you to stay put until we get back."

Joe eyed the sun, which was almost directly overhead. "Right here?" he asked, squinting. "Pa ain't gonna like it much if I come home with my brains baked."

"Any _more_ baked, don't you mean, little brother?" Hoss snorted.

Joe scowled.

Traitor.

"All right, Joe. You can leave the wagon. But I want you to stay in sight. If I look out of the saloon, I want to see you. "

Adam pinned him with that look, the one that said, 'If not, you'll answer to me', but that really meant, 'If not, you'll answer to _Pa_.'

"You hear me?"

"Loud and clear, big brother." He eyed the mercantile. "Is it okay if I step in and buy a drink, or do you think I can manage to get into trouble in the two minutes it takes to do that?"

"It wouldn't be a record," Adam groused.

"What if I need to relieve myself?" Joe pushed, one thick mobile eyebrow cocked and ready to shoot. "Do I need to come into the Palace for a permission slip before heading to the privy?"

At his look, the twenty-seven year old threw his hands up into the air. "All right. All right. If I don't see you when I look out, I'll give it a couple of minutes. Does that work?"

Joe crossed his arms in triumph and grinned. "That works."

Without warning, Adam moved in, placing a hand on his leg. "Joe, I mean it. _No_ chasing girls. _No_ wandering off with your buddies. And _no_ poking your nose in at the Bucket of Blood!"

With that older brother spun on his heel, signaled to Hoss, and the two of them walked across the street to the Palace where they pushed open the batwing doors and entered the saloon's darkened interior.

For a moment Joe sat in the wagon fuming. He was so tired of being ordered around – of being told what to do and what _not_ to do without at least having a say – that he was tempted to up and get into some trouble with a capital 'T' just to prove the two wise-acres right. Then he thought about his pa. The last time he'd hitched a ride on somebody else's hair-brained scheme and ended up in Roy Coffee's jail for getting into a fist fight to try to stop one, and Pa'd come to get him, the older man had looked so disappointed it'd near killed him. He didn't want to hurt his Pa. He really didn't want to hurt his brothers either. He loved all of them. He just wished...

Well, dang it, he was almost fifteen! He just wished they'd let him grow up.

"Hi, Little Joe. What are you doing?" a light feminine voice asked.

Joe swiveled in the seat to find Maisie O'Malley coming out of the mercantile. She was carrying an armload of packages. The shop owner was following behind her with an exasperated look on his face and a second armload a mile high.

Hopping down from the wagon, Joe went to greet her. Maisie looked real pretty today. She was wearing a dress of a soft shimmery cloth that clung to all her curves. It was the color of her auburn hair. She wore it swept up like most of the girls who worked at the Bucket, with a dozen or more little tendrils spiraling down around her peach-perfect skin and framing her bold near-black eyes. Maisie wasn't her real name. It was really Madeline, but she said that name was too ordinary for a woman who was going to one day be celebrated on the stage. She was near four years older than him, but they'd gone to school together in the one room school house and been friends ever since. His pa didn't approve of Maisie anymore 'cause of the kind of work she'd chosen. When he apologized to her one time for his pa practically turning his back on her and hustling him away, she'd just laughed and said it was okay. His pa just didn't understand.

Artists had to suffer for their art.

"Little Joe Cartwright!" the store owner exclaimed. "Just the man I wanted to see!"

Joe pointed at his chest. "Me? How come?"

"I have customers backed up from here to eternity and Maisie needs help delivering all of these goods for the new stage show to the Bucket. Would you be a good lad and run these over for me?"

He asked the last while shoving a half dozen packages into his arms.

"Hey! I can't do that. I'm supposed to – "

"Please, Joe," Maisie pleaded, her painted black lashes fluttering. "I'd be _so_ appreciative."

Joe looked at her. Her painted lips were parted just a bit and curled in a smile. Close beneath, her bosom was heaving. He couldn't help but notice since the bodice of her dress was cinched tight as a saddle and kind of pushed everything she had...up. Torn, he cast his gaze toward the Palace, thinking of his promise to brother Adam. Well, he wasn't chasing a girl. He was _helping_ one. He wasn't running off with one of his friends either. And he wasn't poking his nose in at the Bucket, he was being _invited_ in.

Adam said to stay in sight – every few minutes.

Surely, it wouldn't take more than a few to deliver a few packages.

Joe reached over and took a package off of Maisie's stack and anchored it to the top of his own. "Your wish is my command, milady," he grinned.

"Thank you!" the shopkeeper said gratefully as he headed back into his store. "I'll be sure to tell your Pa how helpful you were, young man, the next time I see him."

"You do that!" Joe tossed over his shoulder as he let Maisie take the lead.

That way he could watch her sashay as they crossed the street.

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A few minutes earlier, Adam Cartwright had walked to the batwing doors of the Palace and looked out. Finding his little brother still in place, he returned to the bar.

"He still out there, Adam?" Hoss asked as he came alongside him.

"Still on the wagon seat, sitting in the sun." He took a sip. "Probably trying to work up a burn so he can tell Pa I left him out too long."

"Ah, Adam, ease up. Joe's just a kid and you ride him awful hard."

He glanced at his brother. At twenty-one, Hoss was already a giant. Since he'd started coming into the saloon with him, things had been a lot quieter.

"I ride Joe hard because he needs to be ridden hard. Pa lets him get by with murder."

"He's just high-spirited. Like them horses he loves so much. The boy's got more energy than he knows what to do with. You just gotta channel it right."

Adam swallowed the last sip of the whiskey he'd opted for and relished the burn as it went down. It was early for hard liquor, but his little brother had put him in the mood. "High-spirited. Like his mother, you mean? Look where that got Marie."

"Hey, Adam. That ain't nice. Marie couldn't of done nothin' to stop that horse fallin' – "

"Except ride _sensibly_. Except rein both the horse _and_ herself in. Except _think_ of what it would do to others if something happened to her." Adam fought for control. The emotions he felt when he thought of his father's third wife and her unnecessary death even now, some nine years later, were raw. "It seems to me that you and Pa think all I want to do is break Joe's spirit. I don't. I want to keep him alive!"

Hoss was looking at his beer. "Sorry, Adam. I know you love Joe. But, he ain't _you_ – no more than he's me." The big man grinned as he turned his mug with his fingertips. "Fact is, if he's like anybody, I think it's Pa."

"Pa?"

His younger brother nodded. "Lookit what happened the other day when that there fancy citified lawyer delivered that summons. I thought Pa was gonna take his head off."

Adam 's lips quirked. "Pa does have quite a temper. But then again," he raised a finger and ordered a refill, "one more word out of that shyster's mouth and I would have done it for him."

"Pa said he's gonna have to go to Genoa for a hearin'. Is that right?"

Adam smiled at the pretty girl who brought his drink. He tasted it to make sure they weren't trying to substitute a cheaper whiskey since he'd already had one and then took a swig. "We leave late tomorrow."

"You're goin' with him?"

The man in black grinned. "What's the matter? You think you can't keep track of that little hellion of a brother we have for three days?"

"Heck, no. Joe and me, well..." Hoss's voice fell off.

"What?"

"Dang it, Adam! I ain't been payin' much attention to Joe lately. Between Pa givin' me more responsibility with the cattle and the men, and him, well, not bein' able to do what I want to do anymore, we've kind of drifted apart." Hoss finished his beer and signaled he was done. "Maybe these here three days will give us a chance to talk. I've got a feelin' he's hurtin' some."

"Joe? Hurting?" Adam finished his drink. "God created that boy with a hurt look on his face. It's what gets him into so much trouble. Men hate it. Women love it. And men hate it _because_ the women love it."

"Least we done a good job teachin' Joe to look out for hisself."

"Oh, he's a scrapper all right. Still, he's got a thing or two to learn when it comes to defending himself. Chiefly, the fine art of when to fight and when to walk away."

Hoss snorted as he pushed off the bar. "I'm thinkin' Joe don't know there _is_ a time to walk away."

"Precisely."

As they began to walk, his giant of a brother put a hand on his arm and halted their progress.

"You hear that?"

He did.

Together they walked to the batwing doors. The street was alive with dust and tumbling men. He looked at the wagon. Little Joe was nowhere in sight.

Here they went again.

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"Just put that down over there, Joe."

Maisie was standing in the light that fell through one of the tall windows on the uppermost floor of the Bucket of Blood. That's where the stage was and where the packages he'd been hauling needed to go. The sunlight set her deep red hair on fire and sparked in the tiny bits of glass she had sewn into what she called her 'working' dress. Maisie was too young to be one of the girls the cowhands referred to a 'sweat and perfume' woman. She was a hostess in the main room and performed in the dance hall routines – both the ones that took place on the saloon floor and the ones up here that were put on for private paying customers.

Joe stared at her for a moment, appreciating her like one of his pa's fine horses and then said, regret in his voice. "I better get going, Maisie. Adam and Hoss are probably back at the wagon by now and we gotta get home."

She turned and looked at him. Her pretty face was masked in shadows. "One more stop, okay?" Maisie held out the largest of the boxes. "This one goes to my room. Can you carry it for me?"

Joe walked over to her. Looking at the steamer size trunk that he had just hauled up the stairs, he asked, "How come we didn't drop this off on the way up?"

She batted those lashes again. "I forgot. Forgive me, Joe?"

As he hefted the package, he asked, "What's in it?"

The redhead smiled. "Clothes for me. From one of the patrons. I've got a special performance to give tonight."

He grinned as they began to walk. "Is he a producer? Are you gonna get to act?"

Her nod came slowly. "Sure thing. He saw me on the floor the other night and told me he wants to help me get my career started. Says he's done it for lots of girls and they're all taken care of real well."

Joe balanced himself with one arm against the wall as he followed Maisie down the stairs to the second floor. Instead of going on downstairs, she turned and walked down the hallway.

"Hey!" he said, following. "You got a new room or something?"

She nodded. "Bigger one. It looks out on the street. "

The street.

He'd have to look out of it when they got there and see if Adam was standing in the middle of it with steam coming out of his head.

"I'll take a look. Then I gotta go, Maisie. Really."

She looked over her shoulder at him and gave him a wistful smile. "If you still want to."

Puzzling over her answer, Joe followed Maisie into her new room. It was a big one, with red velvet curtains and a big fancy tall wood bed. After putting the package down where she told him to, Joe moved to the window and looked out to see that, right in front of the mercantile, there was a brawl going down.

Bet older brother would be happy he'd moved.

"Are they out there?" Maisie asked.

"Hard to tell," he said, swinging back into the room. "There's fight and the dust is thick as – "

Joe halted. Maisie had her hair down. The bodice of her dress wasn't quite as tight as before and she was heading right for him.

The fourteen year old boy swallowed hard and headed for the door.

Maisie caught his arm on the way out.

"Joe," she said softly, refusing to let go. "Kiss me."

"No, Maisie," he worked at her fingers. "What do you think you're doing?"

Tears entered her eyes. "What would you say if I told you your pa was right all along. That I sold myself to have what I want?"

Joe wasn't entirely sure what she was talking about, but he had a good idea. Breaking loose, he said, "You're better than this, Maisie. You know you are." He swallowed hard. "You don't have to do this."

"But I want to, Joe. I want to be an actress and this is the only way. I'm not a Cartwright. I don't have any money. This is the only – "

"No. No, it's not. " Joe paused. "You haven't...well...yet, have you?"

She shook her head.

"No." Her fingers trailed down his chest. "I was hoping maybe..."

Joe frowned. "Maybe what?"

Her eyes lit with hope. "Maybe _you'd_ be my first."

Joe let out a low whistle.

Adam never mentioned trouble spelled with a capital 'M'.

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"You see him, Adam?" Hoss shouted as he pulled two more brawling men apart and then brought their heads together with a resounding _crack!_

Adam was near the bottom of the pile. A hand came up to signal that he hadn't.

Hoss continued to wade in.

They'd asked as they approached and it seemed the brawl was one of those typical lazy Saturday afternoon ones that sprung up to check the boredom. No one knew what started it. No one really cared. The townsfolk were divided into two teams, one cheering the fighting on and the other yelling for the sheriff to come and stop it. A minute before a body had hurtled through the plate glass window of a nearby store and now people were wagering on whether or not the store owner had any kind of insurance.

It'd be a fool in Virginia City who didn't.

They figured little brother would be right at the heart of it, but so far there was no sign of Little Joe. Maybe he'd been right smart this time and gone inside the store. Maybe he was watching all the action through that there glass window that fronted it.

And maybe, today, pigs really _were_ gonna fly.

A moment later a dusty Adam righted himself and came walking toward him out of the melee, wiping his bloody knuckles on his pants' leg.

Hoss shoved another man forward so his nose made the acquaintance of one of the poles supporting the porch. He watched him fall and then turned to his brother.

"No, Little Joe?"

Adam shook his head. "No." He inclined it them toward the shopkeeper. "Maybe Sid will know something."

The older man was standing in the doorway of his shop waving a frantic hand. Hoss looked and saw Roy Coffee and two deputies approaching.

"Sid, you seen Little Joe?" he asked the man.

The shopkeeper was preoccupied. It took a second before he answered. "Your brother's not here."

Hoss watched Adam's form go rigid. "Well, if he's not _here_ , then where is he?"

Sid was stepping off the porch and heading for Roy. As he walked he tossed over his shoulder, "Last time I saw him, he was going into the Bucket of Blood with Maisie. You might try there."

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Joe had done a fair amount of kissing in his brief life and maybe touched a few things here and there that would have given pa a conniption fit if he knew, but first and foremost his pa had taught him to be a gentleman where women were concerned.

Even ones who wanted him to be something _else._

Joe caught Maisie's wrist with his hand. "Maisie, both you and I know that I have a hard time thinking through the things I do. When something comes along, I grab it and run all out. But this, Maisie, _think._ You can't ever get back what you're thinking of throwing away on some old man who's made you promises he's most likely _not_ going to keep. I know you want to be an actress bad enough you can taste it, but – "

"But, don't you see, Joe? If it's you...first...then I'm not throwing it away. That way with...him...I'll have someone else to think about. It'll just be," her voice broke, "another acting job."

"Maisie, no! You can't go through with it." He circled her other wrist with his fingers, so he held them both. "You're not one of those painted women downstairs. Remember? You promised you never would be."

Maisie slumped. She leaned her head on his shoulders. "I don't know if I can keep that promise," she said, her voice small and sad.

"Sure you can." Joe lifted her chin so she had to look into his eyes. " _Sure_ you can. Look, I'll ask Pa. I'm sure he could find you some work somewhere. He knows lots of people." Joe placed a hand alongside her face. "You're better than this, Maisie. Way better."

She was gently sobbing now. "Okay," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Okay. Thanks, Joe." Maisie looked up. Her smile was wan, but it was there. "Really, thanks."

Her lips were so close he could feel their heat. She was leaning on him, her heart beating in time with his own. When she lifted her face toward his and then pressed her lips against his, he didn't fight but went with it.

He should have fought.

Between one heartbeat ad the next, all Hell broke loose.

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For a moment, Adam was unable to speak. When the words came out, they were loud enough for the bankers in Placerville to hear.

"WHAT THE SAM HILL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!"

Joe started guiltily and pulled away from Maisie. Adam noted as he did that the top of the girl's bodice was undone. His eyes shot to the bed behind her.

Thank God, it wasn't!

Joe's mouth was open. He was stuttering something about it not being what it looked like. That was probably true, because at this moment he was so absolutely and positively _livid_ that he couldn't see a single thing!

All sorts of things flew through Adam's mind as he took his first step into that room, chief among which was what the hell he was going to tell Pa when he had to tell Pa something. Joe was his responsibility. His little brother didn't know, but Pa'd only let the kid come to town because he'd argued for it, saying Joe had been a lot of help the day before putting up the new fence in the north pasture and it seemed like he was maturing into quite a young man.

Adam's eyes went to Madeline O'Malley.

But dear God! Mature enough for... _this?_

"Adam, you gotta listen. I was just helping Maisie – "

"Do what? Get undressed?"

"No, Adam. _No!_ You ain't listening to me." Joe's voice was rising in concert with his temper. "You got it all _wrong!"_

"Did I or did I _not_ tell you to remain where I could see you?" he demanded.

Joe swallowed. "Well, yeah, but Maisie needed help and Mister – "

"Oh, Maisie needed _help_ , did she?" He turned on the young woman who he knew was at _least_ three years older than his kid – his _kid_ brother. "Seems to me like she was intending to help you learn something _new._ You could be driven out of town for this if Pa wanted to make trouble. Are you aware of that?" he said pointedly.

"You leave her out of this!" his brother protested. "It's not her fault, Adam. If you'd just _listen!"_

"Oh! Then you admit it's yours!" Adam's jaw was tight . His anger matched his brother's. Good God! The boy could have been ruined for life. He could have picked up some kind of a disease. He could have been bound to a woman he didn't love if she came up...in a maternal way. His fingers formed into fists. "It's about time you acted like the man you want us to think you are and took responsibility for something!"

"Are you calling me a child?" Joe shot back.

" _Yes._ There. I said it. You're a child. A reckless, irresponsible self-centered child! Joe, for God's sake, you're _fourteen!"_

"You were practically running the ranch at fourteen," Joe snapped back. "You telling me _you_ weren't a man?"

"No," he breathed deep. "I am not saying you can't be a man at fourteen. What I'm saying is that _you_ aren't!"

"Pa says – "

"Pa doesn't think straight where you're concerned. It's just like it was with your mother. Pa never could tell her 'no'."

Joe just stared at him.

Adam sucked in air. He ran a hand along his forehead. "Look, Joe. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'm just – "

He'd never seen so many emotions move through the kid's green eyes. They ran fast as a flash flood. Astonishment. Disbelief. Hurt.

Pain. A lot of pain.

"Joe..."

He reached for him, but his brother brushed past. Once Joe's boots hit the carpet in the passageway he started running for all he was worth. Adam glanced at Maisie and then moved to look out the window. He'd left Hoss outside in case Joe tried to escape. He saw the big man reach for his brother's arm.

And miss.

Hoss gave chase but he knew it was useless. Joe was a hare to Hoss' tortoise.

Well, maybe when they caught up to the kid five miles down the Virginia Road Joe would be so worn out he'd at least listen.

Adam sighed. How was it when he could be cool and collected with just about every other man on God's green earth, his little brother always managed to get under his skin and make him lose his temper?

"You owe Joe that apology, Adam," Maisie said quietly. She was sitting on the bed with her arms wrapped around her middle.

"What for?" he snapped.

"It was me," she said, tears flowing down her cheeks. "I made up an excuse to get Joe to come to my room after he helped to take the packages to the third floor. That's all he came here for, to _help_ me." She looked up at him. Her dark brown eyes were black pits in the semi-dark of the chamber. I..." She drew in a breath. "I kissed _him_."

"That doesn't excuse him kissing you back."

"Like you would have done different at his age?" the girl shot back, her jaw tight.

It was hard for him to remember being fourteen. He'd had so many responsibilities thrust upon him, he really didn't have time to be a child.

A child, like Joe.

 _Dear God!_

What had he done?


	3. Chapter 2

TWO

Joe bent over and placed his hands on his knees and breathed deeply, fighting off a wave of nausea and dizziness. Once he'd escaped the stifling interior of the Bucket and broken free of Hoss' grip, he'd run and run and run and _run_ until he couldn't run any more. Dropping to a seated position, the fourteen-year-old wrapped his arms around his legs and laid his head on the bony surface of his knees. His sides were heaving so hard it felt like someone was kicking him in the ribs. His head pounded – hammering, drumming, keeping time with his racing heart – driving home older brother Adam's words.

Reckless.

Irresponsible.

Self-centered.

In other words, a spoiled brat.

"How dare he mention my mama!" Joe growled under his breath.

How _dare_ he say Pa let him get away with things!

How _dare_ Adam accuse him of...well, what he accused him of!

"Damn him!" he snarled, and then looked heavenward for the thunderbolt.

He had a rage in him that lay just under the surface. He didn't know why it was there, it just was. When it threatened to overcome him, Hoss had taught him sit still and to breathe deep through his nose. He was dong it now, waiting for his head to clear. Once it did, he climbed to his feet. It'd been four years now since Adam had come home from college. Four _years_ since elder brother had started throwing his weight around, flaunting that fancy Eastern book education, making it clear as mud that he thought he was smarter than just about everyone who had ever lived, including Pa. Why, Adam wouldn't even _have_ that education if it weren't for Pa laboring night and day with his hands to build the Ponderosa so he could go to that stupid school! Since he'd been back he treated Hoss like he was one of the hired hands and him, well, Adam treated him like he was still that little five year old snot-nosed kid he'd left behind.

With that, Joe sucked in the snot and struck away his tears. He kicked at a clump of dirt and sent it flying. It didn't matter what he did, it was _always_ wrong. If he cleaned up the stalls like he was supposed to, Adam would complain he'd put the tools back in the wrong place. If he set a fence post, older brother told him it was too shallow or too deep and made him do it again. If he laid a porch board it wasn't sanded enough, or he drove the nails in wrong, or he'd laid it down backwards even though there weren't no difference in the ends! This was it. What happened at the Bucket. That was the _last_ straw.

He was done with trying to please Adam 'cause Adam couldn't _be_ pleased.

"Joe! Joe, where are you?"

"Little Joe!"

He froze. It was Hoss and Adam. They were looking for him. Joe glanced at the sky and realized hours had passed since he'd run away and it was getting dark. Anger and common sense fought a battle within him. He should call out to his brothers, let them know where he was. It was at least fourteen miles back to the ranch house and it was getting dark. There were all kinds of dangers on and off the road in the dark. Still, he knew what kind of tongue-licking he was gonna take when he joined back up with them. It would be fourteen long miles of 'Whatever is wrong with you?' and 'Why can't you ever listen?' and 'Why don't you _grow up_ , Joe?' A slow smile spread across the curly-headed boy's face. Besides, if Adam showed up without him, sure, Pa'd be mad at _him_ , but he'd be even _madder_ at older brother for losing him in the first place.

After all, _he_ was a child and Adam was all grown up.

"Joe?"

It was Adam again. Curiously, older brother didn't sound angry. He sounded kind of desperate.

"Joe, I'm sorry. Madeline told me what happened. Come on, Joe, don't be stupid. Answer me!"

That was about as left-handed an apology as he'd ever heard.

"Joe, come on!" Hoss shouted. "Your pride ain't worth gettin' hurt."

So his older brothers just _assumed_ he couldn't make it home on his own.

He'd show them.

Ducking down, Joe moved along the edge of the creek that ran along the side of the road and through the heavy underbrush next to it until he could see them. His brothers were sitting on their horses in the middle of the road. They had Cochise with them. Joe scowled at the sight of his pony. He sure wished he had that black and white, but there was nothing for it but to walk.

"Maybe he's up ahead," Hoss suggested.

Adam nodded. Then he glanced up. "He'll never make it home on foot before dark. If that fool kid can hear us and he's hiding..."

"Now why would Joe go and do that?" Hoss shook his head. "He's smarter than you think, Adam. Ain't no way Joe'd let his pride get in the way of him gettin' home safe. He wouldn't do that to Pa."

"I suppose you're right," older brother said as he pressed his knees into Scout's sides and started moving. "Well, lets keep looking."

Joe drew in a sharp breath.

Pa.

He _was_ being a child.

Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Joe took a step forward, intent on letting his brothers know where he was. At that same instant he heard a sound. It was soft, like the slush of someone panning for gold. Joe stiffened as he put a name to it.

Rattler!

Every notion of being a grown-up and able to take care of himself vanished in that moment. Joe wanted his brothers to rescue him – he _needed_ them too. He wanted to call out, to draw them back, but fear clenched his throat and all that came out was a strangled sound. As he and the rattler stared each other down, the snake coiled its heavy body and readied to strike. Terror gripped him at the idea that he might die out here, alone; his body bloated, his throat swollen up and closed, unable to breathe.

"Adam..." he managed. "Adam...Hoss...come back. Adam..."

The snake struck. Joe stepped back.

And fell.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Where do you suppose that little cuss is?" Hoss asked his older brother as he reined Chubb in. Adam was off of his horse, bending, checking the road for any sign of Little Joe. He looked exhausted.

"God only knows." The man in black ran a hand along his stubbled cheek. "I shouldn't have had that whiskey. It took off my edge. You know? I mean I was mad at Joe, but... How could I have been so stupid?"

"That's what that there Eastern college taught you, ain't it?" the big man asked softly.

Older brother started and turned toward him. "Eh? What do you mean? College taught me to be _stupid?"_

Hoss hesitated. How should he put it? "You know how it is, Adam, when you go into one of them big fancy stores they got nowadays? There's so many choices a man just stands there lookin'. He cain't make up his mind."

"Yes..."

"Well, it seems to me that that there college learnin', well, it put so many things in your head you just ain't sure which is the right one anymore."'

His brother frowned . "There are always multiple sides to any issue."

"No, there ain't. Not when it comes to family. Little Joe's your _brother_. You should be on _his_ side no matter what, not standin' against him all the time."

"I don't stand against him _all_ the time."

Chubb was shifting, moving from foot to foot, wanting to get home. He did too – after all Joe might have hitched a ride and could already be there sitting fat and sassy on his mama's French settee – but this was something that needed to be said.

"Yes, you _do._ The boy can't piss without you tellin' him he's usin' the wrong pot!" the big man snapped. "You mark my word, Adam, you push Joe too hard and one of these days he's gonna up and leave."

"Leave the Ponderosa?" Adam scowled. "Don't be absurd. He's a child."

"Little Joe ain't no child, Adam. He's almost fifteen! He's growin' up and he deserves to be treated like he is. When Mama died you took it on yourself to take care of us. You did a good job. Its time you realized that you need to let both Joe and me go."

Adam's black brows peaked. "You?"

"Yeah, me. I'm all growed up too," he said straight-faced.

His older brother sighed. Adam tossed his hands in the air. "Well, if I let both of you go, then what the _hell_ am I supposed to do?"

Hoss' blue eyes crinkled. "There's always Pa. He needs a good sight of lookin' after."

Adam snorted. Then he sobered. "What am I going to tell him about Joe?"

"You mean the whole thing with Maisie?"

His brother nodded.

"Ain't nothin' to be gained by tellin' it, Adam. Little Joe thought he was doin' right."

"But he ignored my order to stay put."

Hoss sighed. "Yeah, and _you_ ignored his need _not_ too. You can't hobble Joe like some ornery stallion, Adam. He's gonna buck and break free."

"Sage wisdom," his older brother grunted.

"Simple truth," he replied.

"Yeah," Adam said softly as he mounted Scout, "I guess it is." Shifting in the saddle to find his seat, his older brother looked out over the tree-lined ground beside them. Night was falling. It was going to be all they could do to make it home before dark. "I hate to think of Joe out there. Alone."

Hoss snorted. "Little brother's got his cussedness to keep him company. 'Sides, he may be home already. You know him. All he had to do was pull that pup's face at some woman in a passin' carriage and he'd find himself a ride."

Adam let out a sigh. "Let's just hope the only people Joe passed were families riding home in carriages. You and I both know what's lurking out there in the dark."

Hoss nodded soberly. "Let's get home, Adam. If Little Joe ain't there, I'm gonna grab me some grub and head back out."

"After we tell Pa."

The big man nodded soberly.

"Yeah, after we tell Pa."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The rattler didn't get him, but he'd twisted his ankle in the fall. He'd also tumbled into the creek and was soaked to the skin. Night had fallen and Joe was wet and miserable and hungry and not so sure that this independence thing was worth it after all. Sitting there in the dark on the bank of the creek, covered with mud and sand and grit, with a swollen ankle and no way home but walking, all he wanted to do was cry. But he couldn't.

That would just prove to Adam that he was still that little snot-nosed kid.

Of course, Adam wasn't here to see it. And he guessed an ankle that was sprained so bad it was swollen to twice its normal size might be a good enough excuse for a tear or two – even from man – so he let them fall. After a minute or so of grieving not only his situation but his stupidity, Joe glanced at the makeshift crutch leaning against a tree he'd spent the last hour fashioning from a thick Y-shaped branch, and strips of his now ruined white shirt. He painfully worked his way to his feet and then grabbed it and anchored it under his arm. Standing still for a moment he fought for balance, and then began to make his way along the side of the creek. He was pretty far down into the gulley now and he knew if he followed the slender ribbon of water it would eventually work its way back up until it was running parallel to the road again.

Hopefully someone else would be fool enough to be traveling after dark and he could hitch a ride.

Being late September, the air was cool but not terribly cold and that helped since it dried his clothes but didn't chill him to the bone. The moon was shining now and the stars twinkling overhead. Their light dappled the path before him, alternately highlighting and hiding it. Joe moved slowly, favoring his left leg, careful not to strain it too much or to put his weight on it completely. He thought it was only sprained but a break was a possibility too and he didn't want to take any chances.

 _Chances_. Joe snorted. It was amazing what 'chance' could do to a feller's life. What were the chances that Maisie O'Malley would choose _him_ to be her...first. He'd been flattered and flustered and terrified all at one and the same time when he realized what she was asking for. His Pa had made it clear that a man had to respect a woman, even when that woman didn't respect herself.

' _There is a price to be paid, Joseph, for every choice a person makes,'_ Pa told him _, 'but this is different. There are two people involved but the woman pays twice the price.'_

Pa'd also made it clear that a man had to respect himself enough to not to act like some loco stallion. 'God made man for marriage,' he said.

He was gonna get married some day and Pa had told him to save himself too so it would be special.

Joe winced as he took another step. He liked Maisie, but not in _that_ way. They'd been friends back in school. She stood out from the other girls with those black eyes and that sorrel red hair. Her name had been Madeline back then. She came from a family of four girls and one boy, with the boy being the littlest one. Her father had come straight from Ireland. Her Ma was Irish too, but she was from Boston. They'd come out West to stake a claim and lived on the far side of Virginia City. Maisie was the youngest of the girls. Maybe that's why they got along so well. They'd talked lot and both of them felt the need to prove that they could be something other than what their family's had decided they would be.

He swallowed hard. It was night. Maisie had her meeting with that man who...

He hoped she decided to save herself for someone special.

As he rounded a corner, Joe halted. He held still, listening. There was something in the distance, a noise, familiar...

Gunfire.

Turning toward the sound he squinted and yes, there it was, small blasts of light winking on and off in the darkness.

Coming closer.

Joe drew a breath and swallowed hard as he cast his gaze about for somewhere to hide.

Hoss always said he had the _darnedest_ luck.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam tensed, awaiting the blow.

Their father had been sitting at the supper table, alone, when they walked in, a series of papers in his hands. He'd looked up with a distracted smile, and then even that half-smile vanished when he saw they were only two where there should have been three. It turned into a downright frown by the time he noted the looks on their faces and the obvious rumpled state of their clothes.

The papers were on the table now and Pa was advancing on him like a mama bear sensing a threat to her cub.

"Adam, what's wrong?" he demanded. "Where's Joseph?"

It amazed him. Pa knew something was wrong. Joe could've been in the barn settling Cochise, or lingering outside looking at the stars. But Pa _knew_. Adam drew a breath and held it. Their father's relationship with Marie's son made him think of Edward Rochester in Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre, when the weary world traveler was talking about his connection to the governess he'd fallen in love with against all odds. It was as if there was a string tying their father to Joe, knotted somewhere in his chest, and if that cord was snapped for some reason, Pa'd be so wounded he'd just bleed out.

"Answer me! Where's your brother?"

Adam let his guilt out in words. "It's my fault, Pa. I pushed Joe too hard and he ran away." He shot a glance at Hoss. "We thought he was headed home." His eyes moved to the empty area before the hearth. "We'd hoped to find him here."

Pa was staring at him with that look he gave a business partner who'd just suggested he try something shady. Disappointment, disapproval, and downright disdain were mixed evenly in it.

"You mean to tell me that a fourteen-year-old boy is out there in the dark, on foot with no light or food, and nothing but the shirt on his back? And no way to protect himself? Good Lord, Adam! What were you thinking?"

His own temper was rising. His gaze shot to Hoss. A _portion_ of the truth, he reminded himself.

"I told Joe to stay put and he didn't. I found him in the saloon. I think, Pa, you'd say I had every right to be angry." He paused. "The trouble was, I was _so_ angry I said a few things I shouldn't have." Regret tempered his tone. "Like I said, I pushed Joe too hard and he ran away."

"And where were you when all of this was going on?" Pa asked, turning to his younger brother.

Hoss hesitated. He didn't miss it and neither would Pa. "I was outside the Bucket, Pa. I caught hold of the little squirt, but he wiggled free." His brother winced. "I figured Joe'd run hisself out quick enough and we'd find him half a mile down the road."

Something passed through their father's eyes at that moment. Something more than anger. It was fear.

Real fear.

"Pa, what aren't you telling us?" Adam asked.

Their father's eyes moved from him to Hoss and back. Instead of speaking, the older man walked to the table and picked up several of the papers lying there. He came back and handed them to him without a word.

They were wanted posters. There were several men. Unfortunately, most of the artist sketches looked like cartoons. It would be hard to identify anyone from them.

Hoss came over and looked. His clear blue gaze shot to their pa. "What's this?"

The older man was heading for his hat and coat. "Roy was out earlier. There was a bank robbery in Genoa last night, in the older part of the city at the first bank. There's reason to suspect the outlaws are headed this way. Roy's out with a posse looking for them now," he finished as he buckled on his gun belt.

Hoss glanced his way and then said, "Pa, there ain't no reason to think Little Joe's anywhere near those outlaws."

Their father hesitated briefly as he reached for his coat. "And there's no reason to think he's _not_." As he shoved one of his arms in, he said, "Hoss, go saddle Buck for me."

"Yes, sir."

As Hoss vanished out the door, their father placed his hat on his head and then crossed over to the gun rack. Selecting two of their finest rifles, he returned and handed one to him. Looking at the weapon and thinking of the need made him shudder. The men who had robbed the bank would be desperate. If they ran across him, Joe could end up as a hostage or a human shield...

Or dead, because he'd seen too much.

He felt his father's hand come down on his shoulder. "Let it go, son," he said softly. "What's done is done. I need your clear thinking."

"Sure, Pa, it's just – "

"No." His grip tightened. "There will be time later to question what's been done. Right now, we need to find your brother."

Adam nodded as he gripped the rifle. He didn't know what he was going to do when he found the kid, hug him tight or hit him upside the head.

It only mattered that he found him.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A bullet flew over his head to strike a nearby tree. Joe ducked just in time, otherwise it might have hit him.

There was a take-down happening right in front of him. Sheriff Coffee was there, guns blazing, along with several of their neighbors and a couple of deputies. He'd thought about shouting to the lawman to let him know he was there, but decided against it as it probably wasn't the smartest thing to do – draw attention to himself, that is. The only problem was, he couldn't run away. He was too unsteady on his sprained ankle and the bullets were flying fast and loose. There was no guarantee he could duck in time if he needed to. He was behind a line of about a half-dozen men who had taken cover behind some rocks close by the creek. They were the ones Roy was firing at. So that meant the bad men were in-between him and the law.

In-between him and getting home.

Joe figured he was still seven or eight miles out from the ranch house. He'd walked about five hours since spraining his ankle and the thin fingers of dawn were just beginning to draw back night's curtain. That was enough time for Hoss and Adam to have made it home and – once they saw he wasn't there – for them to turn around and come back to find him. Of course, that was supposing they were _gonna_ come back. They might have just decided to let him stew in his own juices for being so bullheaded and running away. Joe sniffed back tears as he ducked behind a tree and listened to the voices of the lawmen and the outlaws raised in anger. They were shouting even as more bullets flew. Brother Adam would _sure-as-shooting_ leave him here to teach him a lesson. And Hoss? Well, acting like he'd been lately, middle brother might just do that too. But Pa...

Pa would come for him come the dark, Hell, _and_ high water.

Placing a hand on the tree in front of him, Joe ran the back of his sleeve over his face, wiping away sweat and dirt. As he finished, he paused to listen. He could hear Sheriff Roy's voice ringing out above all the racket, calling on the outlaws to surrender. One of the men was answering back. For the moment there was no shooting.

If he was going to get a move on, now was the time to do it.

Biting his lip at the pain, Joe used his crutch to move from his place of concealment. The effort left him panting and hanging onto another tree. His ankle was three times its normal size now and it was about all he could do to put his weight on it. Still, he had to try. He'd lay odds, knowing what little he did of criminals, that it wouldn't be long before those men started shooting at the sheriff again and the sheriff started shooting back. They were looking at prison at least and maybe hanging, depending on what they did, and there wasn't much chance they'd just lay down their guns and go peaceable. Drawing a breath and holding it, Joe pushed off the tree.

And came to face with a mean-looking man in black with a gun.

It was pointed straight at him.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright raced along the Virginia City road with his older boys beside him. Adam to his left and Hoss to his right. The moment the sun had crested on the horizon that had set out. They were riding hard now and pushing their mounts as much as they dared, willing the animals to literally fly instead of run. From the moment Roy had appeared at the door with those wanted posters in hand, Ben had begun to fear for his sons. They'd been due back from town before supper and Hop Sing had already been yelling about them being late before the lawman showed up. Of course, there were a million reasons they might have been overdue. A horse could have thrown a shoe or one of their mounts come up lame. They could have decided to make a detour and fish. And so he'd told Hop Sing to keep warm what he could and put on ice what he couldn't and sat down at the table to wait.

Ben's fingers tightened on the reins as each clop of Buck's hooves rang like a bell counting out the time to disaster. Roy had brought word as well that there had been a bank robbery in Genoa the night before. Not at the new bank, but at the older and smaller one located in the area where the town had first been established. Genoa had been settled by Mormons and the old bank was near the original Mormon Station trading post. Over the last few years the town had grown and expanded exponentially. Entrepreneurs had moved in as well as some of Nevada's newfound rich – owners of mines, timber barons. Genoa had the proud distinction of having the first hotel in the Nevada territory, established just two years before he and Marie were married. It also had its own newspaper and court. It had grown so grand, in fact, that a new larger bank had to be built to accommodate all of the money pouring in from the city's burgeoning upper middle class. His lawyer had recommended he do business there. This new bank had recently undergone a renovation, abandoning their old vault for a new nearly invincible Chubb safe with a six tumbler lock. That lock was undoubtedly why the robbers had hit the west side bank with its older four tumbler vault, even though it contained less money. The bank robbers made off with about five thousand dollars and some bonds and other notes. Not a huge haul. Still, it had cost the life of a deputy who tried to stop them and left two of the tellers injured. These men, who might be on his land, were looking at a rope, not time in prison.

That meant they were _desperate_ men.

Ben's jaw tightened as he leaned forward, hoping to urge a little more speed out of the buckskin he rode. His horse knew him well and knew if he was asking for it, the need was critical.

This time it seemed Buck's hooves _did_ leave the ground.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The line of bad men was right in front of Joe. One was standing, shouting across the distance that separated him from the posse, arguing with Roy Coffee, while the others crouched behind rocks, rifles and pistols in hand. First one and then the other turned toward them as his captor thrust him forward. Joe's ankle gave way and he cried out in pain as he hit the ground. Seconds later the barrel of the man's sidearm pressed against his hair.

"You keep your yap shut, kid, or I'll shut it permanently!" the man in black threatened as the pistol's nose worked its way deeper in until it touched his skull.

"What's this?" one of the crouching men demanded.

"Some nosy kid," his captor shot back. "Found him back a ways."

The man who had been talking to the sheriff broke off the conversation and headed their way. "Pythias," he said, acknowledging the man who held him. "I told Coffee I wanted five minutes to think his terms over." He indicated Joe with a nod. "Who's he?"

The barrel tapped on bone. "What's your name, kid?"

Joe's muscles tensed, mostly in an attempt to stop shaking. "It's none of your business," he replied between clenched teeth.

The spokesman dropped to his knees before him. Joe felt rough fingers lift his chin. The man had a tough face, but it was not an unkind one. It reminded him of his Pa's foreman, deeply tanned and wrinkled before its time.

"Son, you may not realize it, but you're in a mess of trouble," the man said as his light eyes narrowed. "Most of these men here would as soon shoot you as let you live. They've killed already and they're lookin' at a noose. There ain't much they care about anymore other than survivin'. If you're worth somethin' to them – or worth somethin' to those lawmen over there – I'd say you'd right smart to let me know."

Joe's eyes flicked from the man talking to him to the one who held the gun on him and back.

"You gonna l...let him k...kill me?" he asked, his voice shaking.

The spokesman, whose hair was blond going gray, and whose eyes looked like they might be gray too, pursed his lips and nodded. "If I have to."

"Harvey?" Roy Coffee's voice called out. "You got about a minute to go and then we come in shootin'!"

Harvey rose. "What'll it be, kid?"

Joe looked at the man in black again. He'd seen his kind before in town, coming out of a saloon to gun a man down in the middle of the street with no more thought than he'd have spitting in a spittoon.

Ashamed, he blurted it out. "Cartwright. My name's Joe Cartwright."

The gun prodded him, poking into his ribs this time. " _Ben_ Cartwright's son?"

Joe closed his eyes, defeated.

"Yeah, that's my Pa."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam checked his horse. He frowned as he watched his father race past him and then shouted, "Pa! Pa! Come back!"

Hoss was just coming up behind. His brother's horse was laboring due to bearing his weight at the pace their father had set. Adam saw his father halt and then turn Buck's nose back.

Seconds later he was at their side.

"What is it?" the older man asked, an edge of hope to his voice.

"I heard something Pa, and saw some movement down by the creek." Adam's frown deepened. "Men. A lot of them."

His father listened. It was clear he heard it too. "Gunfire. The posse you think?"

"Could be."

Without saying another word, his father dismounted. As he took his rifle from his saddle, he signaled they should do the same.

"Let's split up. Approach from different angles. Don't take any action until we can determine if your brother is in the middle of it."

"And what then, Pa?" Hoss asked.

The question hung between them, there, in the growing light, challenging them all.

Their father's jaw was tight, his look fierce. "We ask God for guidance and do what we have to do."


	4. Chapter 3

THREE

Roy Coffee let out a long sigh.

He'd know'd when he woke up that morning that it was gonna be one of those days. First thing off he couldn't find his boots. He knew for sure where he'd taken 'em off the night before and they just weren't there. He was walkin' around in his stocking feet lookin' for them when he ran into a patch of wet occasioned by the water bucket that he kept by the door springing a leak. He'd burned his toast and toasted his eggs and then when he got to the office, there was a line of bellyachers and naysayers lined up to see him to beat the band. He'd spent most of the day taking statements and arguing with all the folks who felt they'd been done wrong who wanted to string up a man for nothing more than walking away with apples off their trees. Then, just as it came time to quit, the rider had shown up from Genoa carrying wanted posters and the word that the men who had robbed the bank the night before had killed a man and were on the way to the Ponderosa. Seems one of them had worked for Ben before and knew his way through using passages it would be hard for a posse to find. He'd wolfed down a few biscuits, shoved some jerky in his pocket, taken a couple of cold swallows of coffee and headed out to warn Ben and the boys.

Only the boys wasn't there when he got there which, of course, was just dandy. He'd left the posters with Ben and told him to make all three of them sons of his acquainted with the outlaws mugs, just in case one of them showed up looking for work. Or for something else. Then he'd headed back to town, rustled up a posse, and taken off in pursuit of the half-dozen bank robbers. He'd found 'em too. About ten miles outside of Ben's ranch house. He'd got 'em cornered all well and good and told 'em if they didn't surrender, he wouldn't be responsible. Trouble was, he'd also found one of Ben's missing sons. Seems the outlaws had Little Joe and they were threatening to kill him.

God alone knew what the boy was doing out here this time of the morning. From the look of him, he'd had just about as bad a day yesterday.

"Now, you just let that boy go, Harvey," he called, tryin' again. "You're only makin' matters worse!"

A mean-lookin' hombre wearing black was holding Ben's youngest. He had an arm wrapped around Little Joe's chest and the barrel of his six-shooter pressed up against the boy's temple. Joe was pale and trembling, but the look on his face would have done his Pa proud. It was a sure thing the boy was scared, but he wasn't showin' it. Beside Little Joe was the man he'd been talkin' to; Wade Harvey, who had worked for Ben Cartwright once upon a time. Probably before Joe was born. Most likely that's how he knew Joe's safety was a negotiating point.

A damned _good_ negotiating point.

"Matters will be worse if you don't let us go, Sheriff," Harvey called back. "I don't want to let Pythias here kill this boy, but I will."

"You touch a hair on that boy's head and you'll have the whole state of Nevada huntin' you down," Roy shouted.

Harvey laughed. "They're huntin' us down already. That's why we're takin' him with us. Roy, _you_ know that I know the Ponderosa land well. We'll let him go somewhere before we get to the north border."

"Leaving a boy Joe's age alone in the high country ain't my idea of savin' him. Let him go now, Wade. You know how much those boys mean to their Pa. If you ain't worried about the state of Nevada, you sure as shootin' should be worried about makin' Ben Cartwright mad by threatenin' one of his own."

Made _him_ shudder.

"We won't harm him, but we won't let him go either. You gave me five minutes before, Sheriff. I give you the same thing. You back off and let us ride out of here in five minutes or this boy's buzzard meat."

Roy's gaze fixed on Joe, tryin' to send him strength. _Hang on, son_ , he thought. _I'll get you out of this somehow._

One of his deputies pulled out a watch and opened it. He could hear the second hand ticking.

"Four minutes and thirty-one seconds, Roy," his man said softly.

Roy knew his words sounded good. He meant them too. Still, he had no idea what he was going to do.

Four minutes and thirty- _two_ seconds and Joe Cartwright would be dead.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam crouched, hidden in the undergrowth. He had taken the right and their Pa, the left. Brother Hoss had opted to take the longer route to the north and west so he could come out directly behind the outlaws. The black-haired man cocked his head and listened. He was close but not _quite_ close enough. Disassociated words carried to his ears – words independent of one another with little meaning.

 _...go, Harvey...matters worse._

 _...Pythias...kill._

 _You touch a hair..._

 _...threatening one of his own._

Adam's jaw clenched with frustration as his knuckles bled white where they held his gun. He didn't know how he knew, but he _knew_ – the outlaws had Joe. Evil men were holding his little brother hostage or worse.

If they hurt him – if they dared touch even _one_ hair on Joe's curly head, he was going to take them down.

 _Whatever_ it took.

Moving with stealth, Adam continued forward, advancing toward three men who were standing a little to the side of the main group. Across the way he could see Roy seated on his light-colored horse. The sheriff was flanked by a row of townsmen and deputies. Unlike the outlaws, their guns were holstered or held at their sides.

"Three minutes, Sheriff!" one of the three shouted.

Three minutes until what?

Then he realized one of the three men wasn't a man at all. It was Joe.

Thank God, it was Joe alive!

"I ain't gonna change my mind in three minutes, Wade!" Roy called out. "You let that boy go and I promise none of you will hang! You kill him, Harvey, and I promise each and every one of you will!"

What was Roy playing at? He couldn't actually be willing to let these men kill Joe. The older man must have a plan. Looking again, Adam noticed a few horses to the rear of the line of lawmen. Horses without riders. Suddenly sure of what Roy was doing, the black-haired man glanced around. Yes. There they were. Two men moving through the trees to take up a position on either side of the man Roy had called 'Harvey'. Adam blinked and looked again at the outlaw standing just in front of Joe. Harvey. _Wade_ Harvey. He remembered him. Wade had worked for their father some fifteen years back. He'd been kind to him, a friend actually.

What had gone wrong?

As he continued to assess the scene Adam saw another figure take a position to the left and rear of the other man. He'd know that graying head anywhere. His father moved like a man half his age. Hoss, most likely, was still on the move. That made four of them. They should be more than enough to take down the two men holding Joe. Roy and his deputies could sweep in then and take care of the others.

Rising up a bit, he waited until his father saw him and then signaled he was ready. As he did Roy's man joined him, crouching at his side. Adam glanced at the thin blond man and nodded. He didn't know him.

"Name's Beaumont," the lanky man drawled. "I got a kid brother just about the age of yours. You can count on me," he said, assuring him of his intent.

"Thanks," Adam breathed.

"One and a half minutes, Sheriff!" Wade called.

They would have to be careful. Joe was in the middle of it all and from the look of pain on his brother's pale face and the sweat dripping from his hair, he was injured somehow. Adam cursed himself again for making the boy angry enough to run. Their temperaments were just such polar opposites. He knew he rubbed Joe as wrong as Joe did him. It was why they got into so many arguments. Joe was a good kid. He would make a better man.

He loved him more than life.

"One minute!"

Adam saw Roy move in his seat. The sheriff raised a hand and scratched the back of his neck. Beside him Beaumont nodded. It was a signal.

Unfortunately, the man who held Joe in his grip recognized that too.

As gunfire erupted the man in black stumbled back. For a moment Adam thought the outlaw had been hit, but then the villain was on his feet and running, dragging a struggling Joe along with him, heading into the trees. Adam glanced at Beaumont. The other man nodded again and then they both took off in pursuit.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Pain pounded through Joe's head, making it hard to think. Pythias' left hand gripped his arm just above the elbow and he had the fingers of the right one twisted in his hair. As the outlaw lugged him over the ground with no more care than he would a feed sack, his injured ankle dragged behind, striking everything in its path and setting off a new shockwave of anguish each time it did. Twice now he'd almost blacked out. In the distance Joe could hear men shouting. Bullets were flying again. He could hear them striking both tree and man-flesh. There were horses running somewhere, in pursuit of someone. And all the while Pythias hauled him farther away – farther away from Roy, from his home, from life.

He had to get away.

Looking ahead as best he could, Joe noted a series of tree roots coming up fast. If he could hook his good foot in one of them, he might be able to take the man down. The only problem was – if he did manage to knock the outlaw off his feet – that it was gonna be almost impossible for him to run away. Still, he knew what his Pa had taught him, about the power that rushed through a man when he was confronted by a life and death situation. It could give him the speed to outrun a grizzly and the strength to lift up a wagon if someone he loved was pinned beneath.

He sure as shooting figured whatever that power was, it had to be running through him right now.

Watching carefully, Joe gauged the moment when Pythias would have to raise a leg to step over the root. Unfortunately, the foot that was closest to the root was the one that was already sprained.

Still, there was nothing to it but to do it.

The root came up quick. Joe caught it with the toe of his boot and twisted.

He screamed.

And then the world went black.

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Adam stopped short, his blood turning to ice as a scream cut through the dawning day. He recognized the high-pitched voice. Beaumont shot him a sympathetic look but kept on running, gaining a good twenty feet before he broke through a thick stand of trees and disappeared. Adam had gone maybe ten feet when a gunshot stopped him a second time. There was a pause and then another shot.

The sound echoed and then the woods went silent.

As he stood there, breathing hard, his heart pounding in his throat, Adam felt someone come alongside him.

"Joe?" his father asked.

All he could do was nod.

"Come on!"

The two of them took off running and broke through the trees a few minutes later to a horrific sight. Three bodies lay on the ground. Beaumont's was the closest to them. The deputy was moaning and writhing on the ground, obviously alive and obviously in pain. His father nodded him that way while he continued on, making a beeline for the other two who lay locked together. Joe's tanned boots and jeans were showing under the form of the man in black.

Neither was moving.

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Ben Cartwright hesitated ever so briefly as his eyes took in the sight of his youngest son trapped beneath the evil man who had threatened his life.

Both were covered in blood.

There'd been two shots. One of them had hit Roy's deputy. The other...

The older man's jaw clenched. He shot a look heavenward.

 _He's a boy, Lord. Let him grow to be a man._

Dropping beside the still figures, Ben shoved the outlaw off of his son. Joe's face was pale. He was covered in mud, blood, and sweat. And he was breathing.

Dear Lord in Heaven, his son was breathing!

Quickly running his hands over Joe's supine form, feeling inside his tattered shirt and along his lower torso, he felt for the telltale sign of a bullet wound. Finding none, he lifted the boy up and ran his hands along his back. They came away bloody, but Ben quickly realized that the blood belonged to the dead man. Apparently the deputy's bullet had hit Joe's captor, taking him out.

Still, his son's limp and unresponsive form troubled him. He felt the back of Joe's head, looking for a lump, wondering if the boy had struck his head.

"How is he, Pa?" Adam asked as he dropped breathless at his side.

"Unconscious," he said, worried. "I don't know why."

"He wasn't hit?"

There was so much wrapped up in that question – fear, hope...guilt.

"No, son. Your brother wasn't hit." He scowled. "Maybe it was just all too much for him."

"Pa."

Ben looked at his eldest. "Yes?"

"Joe's foot."

His eyes followed Adam's. "Good Lord!" he said, sucking in air. Joe's foot was caught on an upturned root. It seemed the boy's ankle was broken from the way it was twisted. The blood seeping out of his boot indicated it was a serious break.

Adam was looking back at Beaumont who had worked his way up to a seated position. One of Roy's other deputies was at his side. The sheriff and Hoss were working their way toward them. For a moment his oldest son just stared, then he choked.

"I hesitated, Pa. For just a moment, I hesitated. If Beaumont hadn't run ahead, Joe'd be..."

"You can't know that for certain, son."

"You can see what he did!" Adam almost shouted. "Joe caught his foot deliberately. He took Pythias down. Knowing that crazy kid, he probably thought he could outrun him." Tears were threatening in his son's eyes. "Pythias had time to shoot Beaumont. He would have had time to shoot Joe."

There was a logic to his words. Ben hesitated too, just for a moment.

It was a moment too long.

Just as Hoss came upon them, Adam turned and began to walk at a quick clip back toward the trees. When he called him, his eldest threw up his hand in a dismissive gesture and then began to run. Hoss watched his brother and then turned to him.

"Little Joe?" he said, everything he wanted to hear in that one question.

"Hurt, but alive," Ben said as he ran his hand over his youngest's face and hair. "He wasn't shot."

Hoss let out a long breath. Then his eyes went to the trees. "What's the matter with Adam?"

The older man shook his head. "Your brother blames himself."

"What's he doin' that for? He knows it ain't his fault. Adam couldn't know when he got into that there argument with Joe that this was gonna happen. No one could."

Ben rose to his feet. Then he knelt and picked his fourteen year old boy up. Joe didn't make a sound as he did, but once he had him in his arms and up against his chest, his youngest stirred. Joe's eyes remained tightly locked, but his lips parted to emit one word.

"Pa...?"

"I'm here, son. You rest now. We're going to get you home and get the doctor to take a look at that ankle of yours."

A little smile quirked the end of his son's upper lip, and then he was out again.

Ben glanced at the dead outlaw and then his eyes went to the man who had saved his son's life. He and Joseph were both hurt, but the wounds were physical. They would heal with rest and time. As he shifted his grip on his unconscious son, the older man's eyes went to the path his eldest had taken – his eldest who felt he had let the family and most of all, Little Joe, down.

Unfortunately, for what was wrong with Adam, there was no easy cure.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

When he found out DeLoyd Beaumont had no one to take care of him during his recuperation other than a young brother, Ben insisted both men come to the Ponderosa to stay until he was well. He'd thought Del, as he liked to be called, was a lawman, but he'd come to find out he and his brother had just been passing through Genoa and had volunteered for the posse there that had been raised after the robbery. At sixteen, his brother Hoyle was a little older than Joseph. Del was between Hoss and Adam. He was twenty-five. They'd brought Del straight from the shooting to the house and sent for Doc Martin. The physician was with him now, removing the bullet from his shoulder. It had lodged under a bone and was in pretty deep. Fortunately, Paul didn't think he would have any trouble retrieving it.

He'd have to remember to send Hoss to fetch the boy from town.

Joseph was asleep in his bed. Paul had looked in on him before coming down to tend to Del. He said the damage to his youngest son's ankle wasn't as bad as they'd feared. Apparently Joe's boot had protected it to some degree and though the bone was fractured, it had not punctured the skin. The blood pouring out of it had actually belonged to the outlaw. Still, Paul was a bit worried that Joseph had not yet awakened. It could be exhaustion, his old friend said, or there might be something else going on.

At the moment he was climbing the stairs to sit at his son's side. When he opened the door, he was surprised to find Adam already occupying the bedside chair.

It was the first time he had seen his eldest son since the stand-off ended.

Adam looked up at him. He wore that little smile he'd had since childhood; one of chagrin mixed with a touch of self-denigration.

Ben nodded and then leaned over to place a hand on Joe's head. Thank goodness, there wasn't any heat.

"Has he said anything?" he asked.

Adam shook his head. "Pa, do you think he's all right?"

He sounded so much like the boy he had once been; a boy who had had to deal with his own mercurial moods. Smiling he answered, "I'm sure he is. The break's not as bad as we feared and there are no other injuries. Paul thinks he's just worn out."

Adam nodded, and then he rose to his feet and walked to the window. Leaning an arm on the cool glass, he said, "I wouldn't listen to him, Pa. That's what started this whole thing."

"In town, you mean? Hoss told me about what happened."

His eldest swung around to look at him. "Everything?"

Ben frowned. "Your brother told me that you told Joe to stay in the wagon and he disobeyed, that you found him in the saloon, and that the two of you got into an argument and Joe ran away." He paused. "Why? Is there more?"

Adam seemed to consider it. He looked at Joe and then back. "Don't get mad, Pa. Not until you hear everything."

What wondrous and horrific things had followed those words over the last twenty-seven years? The older man moved to the chair and sat down.

"Go ahead."

Adam crossed back over and stood by the side of the bed. He stared down at his sleeping brother. "I found him upstairs in one of the girl's rooms."

Ben felt the blood rush to his head. "What?"

His son was holding out a hand. "Nothing happened. In fact, nothing was _going_ to happen. Joe went there with Maisie O'Malley. I found out later that the store-keep had asked him to help her carry packages up to the third floor stage."

"So that's why he disobeyed." Ben nodded. "A pretty girl."

"A _friend_ , Pa. Maisie went to school with Joe, if you remember."

He did. She was a beautiful girl. She was the last of Sean O'Malley's four girls and the one who had gone wrong.

"So what _was_ Joseph doing in her room?"

Adam ran a hand through his hair and then along the back of his neck. "Maisie took him there. She tried to...seduce him."

"He's a boy!"

"And Maisie's a girl, Pa. Really. She's not even eighteen. I talked to her too. She said she was the one in the wrong and that all Joe did was kiss her back when she kissed him." He paused. "That's when I walked in."

Ben smiled sadly. "And the legendary Cartwright temper did its work."

Adam snorted. "How'd Hoss miss inheriting it?"

Ben reached out to brush a sodden lock of hair back from his sleeping son's eyes. "Oh, he has it. It just takes a lot of time to bubble up and out of that massive frame."

"Well, it didn't take two seconds with me. I wouldn't listen. I thought _he'd_ been the one to take Maisie upstairs. I told him he was irresponsible and reckless and self-centered and..."

"And?"

"I said when it came to you disciplining him, it was just like his mother. You just can't tell him 'no'". Adam winced at his look. "I'm sorry, Pa. I owe Joe the truth. I don't think he would have run if I hadn't said it."

Ben rose. "Is that how you feel?"

His son shrugged. "To be honest? At times."

"Am I to take it that you believe my... _leniency_...with your brother puts him in jeopardy?" Ben could hear it in his voice – that renowned 'temper' he mentioned.

"No, Pa. Well, I guess – in a way – _yes._ " He winced, well aware he was walking on thin ice. "Joe's like a wild colt. There's a beauty in the untamed. At the same time, its the wild ones that break their necks if you don't break that fiery spirit first."

Ben wanted to yell at him. To tell his son he was wrong.

Sadly, he knew he was right. Joe was not only Marie's son and all he had left of her, but he was the child of his middle years. He'd been so hard on Adam and not much better with Hoss, demanding they be men at such a young age. He wanted to let Joe be a boy for as long as he could.

Before he could reply, there was a soft low sound. Both of them turned to the occupant of the bed.

Joseph's eyelids were fluttering.

Dropping back into the chair beside him, the older man took hold of one of Joe's hands and used the other to stroke his hair.

"Joseph? Son? Can you hear me?"

Joe's lips parted. A soft sound came out. There were words, but there was no understanding them.

"Joseph," he said again, employing his stern tone. "I need you to wake up. Wake up and look at me!"

The balls of his son's eyes rolled behind their fleshy screens. Joseph winced and then slowly his eyes opened. He blinked but said nothing.

"Do you know where you are, son?" he asked. Paul had said if Joe woke to wait for him to tell them where he was and what had happened. It was a way of gauging whether or not there had been a blow to his head.

His boy frowned, his green eyes roaming from his face to the room and back.

"Home...?"

"Good son, that's good." He glanced at Adam who was hanging on his baby brother's every word. "Do you remember what happened?"

Joe licked his lips. "Can I have...water?"

Adam grabbed a glass and handed it to him. After Joe drank, he asked again, "Tell me what happened, son."

"Got mad...at Adam. Stupid. Ran...away." Joe's frown deepened as the events of the night and early morning filtered back in. "Men. Bad men. They caught me. They...he..." The boy's eyes grew wild and he started breathing fast. "He's gonna kill me!"

He'd heard enough. Joe's mind was fine. Ben shifted onto the bed and caught his boy in his arms. Holding him tightly, he said, "It's all right. Joseph! That's enough. You're home. You're safe now. The man who tried to hurt you is dead."

The older man sensed more than saw his eldest tense. Adam didn't say it, but Ben heard it.

No thanks to him.

"I'll go let the Doc know and tell Hoss Joe's awake," Adam said and before Ben could reply, was gone.

There was no sense in going after him. Whatever had happened, there was time for the brothers to talk and find a way to come to a peace about what happened. Joe was alive and he was safe.

Nothing else mattered.

Nothing else at all.


	5. Chapter 4

FOUR

Adam went downstairs and did as his father said. He went to the guest room where Paul Martin was finishing bandaging Del's shoulder wound and told him Joe was awake and lucid . Then he went outside to the barn to find Hoss. His middle brother was standing, brushing down Little Joe's black and white Paint; his beefy face a study in worry. When he told him Joe had regained consciousness, Hoss put the brushes back and rushed into the house. Adam followed more slowly, his mind working through the conversation he'd had with his father. It had pained him to say it, but he thought it had to be said – for Joe, so his father would understand why his little brother had gotten mad enough to lose all sense.

One thing you did not do with Joe was mention his mother, unless it was to praise her.

Joe'd been too young when Marie died to have many memories and so he'd fashioned his own based on their recollections and the three or four images they had of her that made Marie look like, well, an angel or a saint. What was ironic, was that Marie would have been the first one to laugh, not at Joe, but at what she had become in his mind. The New Orleans' native had been a beautiful, vivacious, opinionated, determined woman who loved his father and her son fiercely – him and Hoss as well – and who had spent the greater part of her short life in Nevada stifling her natural tendencies in order to appear to be the perfect rancher's wife. Pa saw her in Joe, there was no denying it. He'd always catered to all of her little whims and in some ways, he did the same with her son. The difference was, Joe was going to be a _man_ in Nevada not New Orleans; a rancher who had to deal with some of the toughest sorts, who needed discipline to handle not only the dangers of cattle drives, breaking horses, and moving timber, but the likes of the men who would try to stop him. He was hard on his little brother _because_ he loved him. Because he wanted him to _succeed._

Because, maybe, in some ways and at certain times, their pa couldn't be.

When he reached the door Adam opened it and was surprised to find someone in the great room. It was a young man he'd never seen before. He was standing by the fire, holding one of his books in his hand. For a second he had the impossible thought that it was Joe.

Of course, the fact that the young man had his nose buried in a volume of Tennyson should have clued him in that it was not.

The stranger must have heard him snort. His head came up and he looked at him, his thick golden-brown eyebrows jumping in a pretty good imitation of Joe's. "Sorry." He indicated the book. "Is this yours?"

"Yes," he said as he approached him. "Do you enjoy Tennyson?" When the stranger nodded, he added, "What's your favorite?"

The young man grinned sheepishly. "Del likes the highbrow stuff. It's Idylls of the King for me."

Del. If the name hadn't given it away, the thick southern accent would have. Adam extended his hand. "I'm Adam Cartwright. You must be Del's brother, Hoyle. I take it you just arrived."

The young man nodded as he took it. "There was no one around. I...let myself in."

"Have you seen your brother?"

"Yeah." He frowned. "He was sleeping. I tried to wake him up. I couldn't."

"Doctor Martin said he'll be fine. He gave him something to help him sleep."

"Oh. I see."

Hoyle looked to be a few years older than Joe. He would have guessed sixteen, maybe seventeen at most. He had the same small, taut build, except his chest and shoulders were a little broader, probably from whatever kind of work he'd been reared to. He had dark curly blond hair, a shade or two lighter than his brother's, though it wasn't quite a thick as Joe's. Adam laughed again.

No one had hair as thick as Joe.

"Something funny?" Hoyle asked as he returned the Tennyson to the stack he'd taken it from.

"Sorry. It's not you. I was thinking of my kid brother."

"All right if I sit?" the boy asked, indicating the chair by the fire.

"By all means. I apologize for not asking you to."

He shrugged as he sat. "That's okay." As Hoyle looked around, Adam watched his eyes grow wide. "You have a really nice spread."

"My father worked hard for every inch of it."

The youth paled. "I didn't mean anything. I just meant...well...it reminds me of the plantations back home in Louisiana."

"Did you live in a plantation?"

"Me?" He snorted, obviously amused. "No. Our pa worked for one of the big houses before he died. Ma too. She's gone as well. We played there sometimes. Never went inside."

"Is it just you and Del?" he asked. "I mean, do you have any other brothers or sisters?"

"Had a sister. She died."

"Sorry."

Hoyle nodded. "So am I."

When it seemed the young man didn't intend to say anything more, Adam opened his mouth to ask if he'd eaten. Before he could, Hoyle asked him a question.

"Is your brother okay? The one the bank robbers were holding?"

Adam's jaw tightened. "Thanks to your brother. Yes."

"Is that how Del was shot? Saving him?"

Apparently it wasn't Roy who'd delivered Hoyle to their doorstep. "Didn't anyone tell you what happened? Who brought you out here?"

Hoyle hesitated. His hazel eyes flicked to the room where his brother lay and then his lips curled in a tight smile. "No one. I was following behind the posse. I waited long enough that they wouldn't know I'd been trailing them before coming here."

That's why he had come upon him unexpectedly.

"You'll definitely have to meet Joe. Apparently you two have a lot in common," Adam said with a shake of his head.

"I'd like that."

"Adam, are you going to introduce us to your guest?"

He saw the boy jolt and blanch. There was no mistaking the authority in Pa's voice.

"This is Del's brother, Pa. He arrived a few minutes ago."

Hoyle shot him a look of gratitude as he rose to take his father's hand. "Hoyle Covington Beaumont," he drawled. "At your service, sir."

Pa was eying the young man, sizing him up – that or noting his likeness to Joe. It wasn't so much that they looked alike as that they seemed to be the same type, right down to the slightly cocky nature and the inability to understand the word 'no'.

After a moment the older man extended his hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, Hoyle. I'm Ben Cartwright."

The boy's eyes flicked to him. "Your Pa?"

Adam nodded. Then he turned his attention to his father. "How's Joe?"

"Sleeping. Paul says it was just exhaustion after all. Other than his ankle, he seems to be in fairly good shape. Paul is insisting on a week's bed rest."

A week. Good Lord!

"Did Paul leave a prescription for tying Joe down?" he asked, his dimples showing.

"Fortunately that ankle is going to keep your brother immobilized for a while. At least long enough for everything else to heal."

Adam glanced at Hoyle who was taking everything in. "Everything else?"

When his father hesitated to answer, the boy seemed to sense it was time for him to leave. "I'll just go check on Del, if that's all right," he said.

The older man reached out and placed a hand on the youth's shoulder. "You do that, son. You have a brave brother there. We are indebted to him. You're both welcome to stay with us until he's well."

Hoyle nodded. "Thank you, sir. That's very kind of you."

They watched him walk to the guest bedroom and go in, closing the door behind him, before speaking.

"Seems like a nice boy," the older man said.

Adam nodded. His father was always very generous when it came to strangers. He was a little more reserved. The boy seemed genuine, but there'd been something...

"Adam"?

"Sorry. My mind was wandering." He met his father's troubled gaze. "What is it Paul is worried about with Joe?"

"Your brother came very close to...dying. The situation he found himself in was explosive and completely out of his control."

"Joe took that villain down. That had to make him think he had some."

"At the risk of his own life, yes." His father paused. "I'm very proud of him."

"But..."

His father went to his usual chair by the fire and sat down. "Paul said that near death experiences can...change a person. Especially someone Joe's age, who's felt invulnerable. Paul said there are several things we need to look out for."

"Like what?"

"Personality changes. Coming that close to death makes some people more cautious, afraid of just about everything. Others it compels to reckless behavior. Paul said time loses its meaning because of a heightened awareness of the current moment and a desire to live it." His father held his gaze. "Adam, we're going to have to be very patient with your brother."

He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "I get it, Pa. Thanks for the slap on the wrist."

"I don't mean it that way, son, but I know Joseph and on a normal day, your little brother possesses a unique talent to –"

"Get under my skin?"

"Yes."

It was true. And it had almost got his brother killed.

"I learned my lesson, Pa. You don't have to worry. I'll hold my tongue."

His father rose and came to his side. "I'm afraid it's not going to be as easy as that."

He frowned. "What do you mean? I said I'd leave the kid alone."

"Leaving Joe alone will be just as dangerous as pushing him too far." The older man placed his hand on his shoulder. "Adam, he needs your guidance. He's just a boy. I don't want... This can't become an excuse for letting Joe have his way and go unchallenged. Do you understand?"

It would be like walking a tightrope.

"Does Hoss know?"

His father nodded. "He heard what Paul had to say. I told him what I told you, only in reverse. He's going to have to have a heavier hand with Joe."

Adam nodded. "Amazing, isn't it? How everything can change in one day?"

"Or less."

An image flashed in his mind then. Joe, standing there in Maisie's room, insisting he had done nothing wrong and begging him to listen.

If he only had...

Suddenly, his father's hands were on his face. He forced him to meet his stare. "Son, you have to forgive yourself."

He drew in a sharp breath. It helped stem the tears. "I don't know that I can, Pa. Joe could have died."

"But he _didn't._ Our God is one of second chances. He allows these things in our lives to teach us. There's a lesson here for Joe, _and_ for you."

"Really, Pa?" Adam snorted. "I'd be happy if you'd tell me what it is."

"No one can tell you, son," his father said, gently patting his face and then pulling away. "I think it's something you and your brother are going to have to discover together."

A second later a light voice intruded. It was Hoss. He was standing at the top of the stairs. "Hey, Pa. Joe's awake. He's askin' for Adam."

He blanched. He couldn't help it.

"Go to your brother, son. He needs you."

Adam nodded and started for the stairs, even though he didn't know who needed who more.

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Hoss smiled at him as he passed him on the stair.

"He's lookin' good, Adam. He's got some color back."

"That's good," he said.

As he started to push past, the big man caught his arm and stopped him. "It ain't your fault, Adam, what happened to Joe."

"Well, if its not my fault, whose is it?" he snapped. "Joe's?"

"It ain't nobody's and, maybe, it's everybody's. I didn't believe him either." Hoss' blue eyes narrowed with pain. "And I didn't fight hard enough to stop him there, outside the Bucket. I just figured Joe'd tucker out and come lookin' for us with his tail between his legs like always."

Adam reached out and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder as a sign of their shared pain. "It seems we both have our work cut out for us now."

Hoss looked frightened. Big as he was, sometimes his middle brother seemed more of a boy than Joe.

"You mean what Paul said about Joe, well, maybe changin'?"

Adam's lips quirked. "Pa said we have to have patience with him."

Hoss shook his head. "You know little brother. Once he figures that out, he'll find some way to use it."

"I know," he said, releasing his grip. "It'll be like walking on egg shells. Not reining him in, but not letting him run too fast or too far."

Hoss grinned. "Maybe its a good thing Joe ain't gonna be runnin' anywhere anyhow for a few weeks."

"Maybe."

They stood for a moment, both of them lost in thought, and then Hoss said, "Well, I'll be lettin' you go. The little cuss'll be asleep again if you don't get in there soon."

Adam patted his brother on the back and then moved down the hall. He stood outside his little brother's room for a moment and then pushed the door open and went inside. The only sound was that of Little Joe's breathing. It was even, as if his brother was asleep. Moving to the side of the bed he looked down at him. Sleeping, Joe looked like an angel with his baby face and mountain of light brown hair going dark. At that moment Adam thought he experienced what a parent did when they realized their child was growing up and getting ready to leave them behind.

He'd looked after Joe for so long, doing everything he could to protect him, it was hard to accept the fact that soon his brother wouldn't need him anymore.

Dropping into the chair beside the bed, Adam rested his chin on his hand and waited. It was maybe fifteen minutes before Joe roused again from wherever pain and the potent medicine Paul Martin had given him to kill it had taken him.

Joe's dark lashes fluttered. He shifted and moaned. Licking his lips, he opened them and called out. "Pa?"

Adam leaned forward, taking his brother's arm in his fingers. "No, Joe. It's me. Adam."

Joe's brows met in the middle and he seemed to scowl. "...Adam?"

"Yeah, buddy, it's me."

"...sorry."

The word tore at him. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Left..the wagon. Maisie..."

He leaned in. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Joe. I wouldn't have listened either if a girl like Maisie had asked me to do something for her."

That brought a little smile. And another wince. "Hurts."

Yes, it did. It hurt _him_ too. "I know. Actually, it's me who should be sorry."

His brother's green eyes turned toward him. They weren't entirely without focus, but he wasn't sure he could see him.

"What...for? ...did nothing...wrong."

God, how those words broke him! Adam did nothing to keep the tears from forming in his eyes. "Joe, my arrogance nearly got you killed."

Joe snorted. Sort of.

"...sure...are arrogant..."

He reached out and touched his brother's thick hair, brushing it away from his face. "Joe, you know the things I do...they're only because I love you. You do know that, don't you?"

One cheek twitched. "Right..."

"Really, Joe. You _have_ to hear this. You're a good kid. You're going to make a wonderful man. I just...well...I just..." He shook his head, unable to find the words.

When Joe said nothing, he thought he had fallen back to sleep. Maybe he had. Still, he roused himself one last time. "...this...what it takes..."

"Takes to what, Joe?"

"...get through that...granite head..."

His brother was asleep.

Adam sat there, holding Joe's hand, marveling at the blood pounding through his brother's veins and at the fact that Joe was alive in spite of all of the mistakes that he had made. Taking the hand he held, Adam moved it below the coverlet and then pulled the thick blanket up to Joe's chin. Then he leaned over and kissed his baby brother's furrowed forehead before exiting the room.

Hoss was waiting for him, questions in his eyes.

"You all right, Adam?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," he said. "Of course, I am."

And, of course, Hoss knew as well as he did,

It was a lie.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam went straight downstairs. He wanted to see if Del Beaumont was awake yet. On his way to the guest room he ran into Hop Sing who was carrying a tray laden with dishes out of the sitting area. Upon first inspection it seemed the food not been touched. A second glance showed him that it had been – barely.

"Boy eat like butterfly," the Chinese man groused. "Flit from flower to flower. Never stay long enough to gather nectar."

Adam hid his smile. Hop Sing was in a poetic mood today.

"I'm sure Hoyle is worried about his brother." He nodded toward the guest room. "Is he in there now?"

Their cook shook his head. "Boy go out. Take walk even though dark. Says, maybe hungry when comes back!"

Restless energy. He knew all about that. It was hard to sit still when your life was out of balance.

"I'm sure he'll work up an appetite. Doc Martin's due back in the morning. Paul said before he left that Del was doing well. Since there was no sign of infection, he thought he'd make a quick recovery."

"Hop Sing might as well go visit cousin in Virginia City. Mistah Ben no eat. Little Joe no eat. Guests no eat." The Chinese man wagged a finger at him. "Not see Mistah Adam at table last night and father say he send Hoss to town first thing in morning to check with sheriff!"

Adam shook his head. "Can't let you do that, Hop Sing," he said, adding a note of regret for show. "We've got two men who need to build up their strength and, unless you want me to try to make beef broth or chicken soup..."

The Chinese man made a face. "Hop Sing taste Mistah Adam's soup. Make convalescence longer."

Adam laughed. "I was fourteen!"

"No let Little Joe cook either. Burn house down," he replied. Hop Sing's dark eyes went to the stair. "How Little Joe?"

"Sleeping naturally." Adam yawned as he said it. He glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight. "Just like you and I should be." The thought made him frown. "Did Pa go to bed?"

Hop Sing shook his head. "Go after boy. Say too late for him to be out."

That was Pa, keeping watch even when the one who needed it wasn't one of his own.

"I'm going to check in on Del and then head up to bed." Adam stepped over and took a plate from the tray that contained an untouched half of a beef sandwich and some apple slices. "Midnight snack," he said with a grin as he popped one of the slices into his mouth.

Hop Sing beamed as he knew he would.

"Breakfast at seven," the Chinese man said and, with a flourish of his queue, turned and headed for the kitchen.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Del was sitting up in bed, awake and staring out the window when he entered the room.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" Adam asked.

"Nah," he drawled as he lifted the sling that held his arm. "This did that."

"The doctor said the wound was clean. Shouldn't take too long to heal."

The other man shrugged. "I've had worse."

Back in the trees the only thing he had been focused on was Joe. Now he was able to give DeLoyd Beaumont a good assessing look. He would have put his age at about twenty-five, so a little younger than him and a little older than Hoss. He was blond like his brother Hoyle, only where Hoyle's hair was a deep blond tending to brown, Del's was as pale as a Palomino's winter coat. His face was longer than his brother's, but enough like it he would have guessed they had the same mother. Del had deep blue eyes topped by pale brows, set in a narrow face. He wasn't old enough to have too many lines, but there was one – unnatural – that ran along the left side of his face from just beneath his ear and into his neck.

There had to be a story there.

"How'd you get that scar?"

Del reached up and ran his index finger over it. "Knife fight," he grinned. "I was a cocky kid."

"Like your brother?"

Del was instantly alert. "You've seen Hoyle?"

"Easy." Adam held his hand out, fingers wide. "Apparently your little brother and mine have a lot in common. Joe doesn't know the meaning of the word 'no' either. Hoyle's here."

For a moment the blond man looked confused, then he nodded. "He was following the posse. Damn fool kid! He could have been killed."

The scene in the forest – Joe laying silent and still under the man who would have murdered him and Del laying just feet away, his arm bleeding and his gun smoking – flashed before his eyes.

He must have winced or frowned because the other man asked, "Something wrong?"

"No. I came in here to thank you for saving _my_ damn fool kid brother when I couldn't."

"I was just faster, that was all." Del smiled. "I've had a lot of experience."

"Are you a lawman?"

The other man shrugged. "I've been that, and a drover, and a wrangler, and just about everything else under the sun. Hoyle and I were sent to live with relatives up north when our father died. About a year ago we started making our way back south, finding odd jobs here and there, working enough to pay the next part of the journey forward."

"So you were just passing through Genoa?"

"We've been there about a month. We were on the street when the bank robbery went down. I saw that deputy killed. He had a young wife and baby. I volunteered for the posse and brought Hoyle along. When we got to Virginia City, I set the kid up in the hotel and told him to stay put until I came back."

"Famous last words..." Adam muttered.

Del was silent for a moment. "He's a good kid. Cocky, yes, and too sure of himself, but he'll grow out of that. I regret that the work I've done has dragged him from town to town, but its been the only way to pay the price of the trip home."

"And where is home?" Adam smiled. "Hoyle mentioned Louisiana?"

"A small town in St. Charles Parish."

"That's near New Orleans, right?"

Del grinned. "You make a habit of studying geography?"

"Yes, and no. I went to college, so I studied it plenty. Actually, the reason I know about New Orleans is that that's where father's third wife was from. Her name was Marie. She was Joe's mother."

" _Third_ wife?"

"My mother died when I was born. My brother Hoss' mother died on the journey west."

"And this Marie?"

"She died in a riding accident when Joe was five." He paused. "Hoyle said your mother is dead as well."

Del started to reply, but had to wait for a yawn to pass. "Hoyle was a little older. She died when he was nine."

Adam rose from his seat. "I'm tiring you out."

"You'd think after sleeping half the day away, I'd be wide awake. But you know, I think I could sleep again."

"I need to get to my bed too. The needs of a ranch pay little heed to the troubles of man. " He walked to the door. "Good night."

"Adam?"

"Yes?"

"If you see Hoyle, send him in."

He nodded. "I will."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Outside the Ponderosa ranch house a brown-haired man wearing a store-bought suit stood, concealed behind a brace of trees. He'd positioned himself where he could watch but not be seen. As the lights began to dim within the large wooden structure, he considered his options. It would take some time for DeLoyd Beaumont's wound to heal. That was fine. It fit with the plan. There was no sense in moving too quickly. It would only bring them trouble. He would come back once the blond man was on his feet. He'd seen Beaumont's young brother walking around not too long before and had thought to confront him, but he knew DeLoyd was protective of the kid and decided, in the end, it would be better to leave him alone.

Unless _not_ leaving him alone became necessary.

Coming to a decision, the city slicker put some distance between himself and the Cartwright's fine house. He'd tethered his horse back a hundred yards or so. In the morning he'd ride north, take a temporary job, and scout out the next town. Then he'd return to Genoa and finish his business there. By the time he was done with all of that DeLoyd Beaumont should be on his feet and he could come upon him unawares.

Yes, that would do.

The brown-haired man cast a last glance at the capitol of Benjamin Cartwright's empire.

After all, they had a lot to talk about.


	6. Chapter 5

FIVE

Ben Cartwright lowered the newspaper he was reading and looked at the young man seated near the end of the table in the spot Joe usually occupied. He'd found Hoyle Beaumont wandering around the corral the night before and had escorted the boy into the house. Hoyle seemed to know his way around horses, so it was more for the boy's protection than because he feared he might upset the animals. He'd stepped into the guest room with him and noted the boy's joy when he saw his brother was awake. Del told him Adam had left just a few minutes before and gone to bed.

That left him as the last man standing.

He'd gone to the kitchen next and grabbed a snack, and then sat in the chair by the fire for half an hour or so, considering the possible outcomes of the day's events and thanking the Lord that the one He had chosen had been the one _he_ desired. After that he went to bed.

His sleep had been restless, his dreams rife with all those _other_ possibilities.

In the end he had risen early, seen to a few of Joe's chores to help out Adam and Hoss, and then come in and taken his place at the table. His boys were running a few minutes behind, which left him and Hoyle alone. He'd tried to get the boy to talk a little about his family and where he was from. He'd guessed by the brothers' accent that it was near New Orleans. While the boy politely answered his questions and responded to pleasantries, Hoyle actually said very little and was obviously preoccupied.

If it had been Joe and Adam was laying in that room with a bullet wound, he supposed it would have been the same.

"Mornin', Pa!"

Ben looked up to find Hoss charging down the stairs, with Adam close behind. "Good morning, Hoss. Adam."

Adam nodded. His eldest was looking rested but his face still had a pinched look. He doubted Adam had slept any better than he had. Hoss on the other hand, as usual, was shining bright.

"What's for breakfast?" his middle son asked, rubbing his hands together.

"Good morning, Hoyle," Adam said as he pulled his chair back and sat down.

"Dang it!" Hoss exclaimed. "That's might poor manners, ain't it? How'd you sleep, Hoyle?"

The boy looked slightly uncomfortable. "Fine."

Ben nodded to Hop Sing who had entered with a tray holding a platter fully laden with flapjacks. "Did either of you check in on Joe?"

"Sleepin' beauty's still sleepin', Pa," Hoss replied, his tone softening.

The older man nodded as he took a small stack of cakes and placed them on his plate before passing the platter to Adam who sat on his right side.

"How does he look?"

"Better, Pa," Adam answered as he passed the platter on to Hoyle. "His color's coming back."

Ben smiled as the platter moved on to Hoss who was more than ready. His big son with the big appetite emptied it of all the remaining flapjacks and then handed it back to Hop Sing who took it and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Paul will be out this morning to check on Joe and on _your_ brother, Hoyle," Ben said, addressing the taciturn boy. "I imagine he'll let Del get out of bed if he wants to."

"Can I have the maple syrup, Pa?" Hoss asked.

Ben's lips twitched. "I don't know... _can_ you?"

Adam nearly blew syrup out of his nose.

Hoss chuckled. " _May_ I have some syrup, Pa," he amended.

The older man picked up the cut-crystal container and passed it to his middle boy. "Yes, son, you _may_."

And with that, they settled down to eating. Hoyle's appetite had apparently come back. The boy did a good job of cleaning his plate. When he was done he asked to be excused so he could take a tray into his brother. Ben nodded his agreement and told him to go to the kitchen and check in with Hop Sing.

Minutes later they watched Hoyle disappear into the first floor guest room.

Once they'd finished and Hop Sing had cleared the table, the three or them remained in place discussing the day's business. Hoss was heading into town to check on the progress of Roy's investigation into the men who had robbed the bank and held Joe hostage. Not all of them had been captured and the lawman was gathering men to go in pursuit of them. He wished he could spare either Adam or Hoss for the posse, but with Joe down it was out of the question. For today Adam would have to undertake his responsibilities as well as his own.

He didn't want to leave Joe alone.

As Hoss rose from the table to gather his things, they were all surprised by a knock at the door. Adam went to answer it and returned a moment later with an official looking document in his hand.

"It's from the court in Genoa, Pa," his son said as he offered it to him. "You think this has to do with that disagreement with Stanfield Hawks?"

Ben stared at the envelope. Stanfield Hawks was a newcomer to the area. He'd purchased land right next to theirs and was disputing one of the borderlines. It just so happened the land within the border he was claiming was his was one of the richest on the Ponderosa.

"I imagine it is," he sighed as he opened the flap and removed the paper inside. After a second, he tossed it on the table.

"What is it, Pa?"

He shook his head. "A summons. Hawks has lodged a formal complaint." His eyes went to the stair and his mind beyond it to the wounded boy who lay sleeping in his room. "I do _not_ need this now."

"When's the court date?" Adam asked.

"Three weeks from now," he said, leaning back in his chair, "but it will require I go to Eagle Station and a few other towns including the one with the land office where I first filed the claim on the land. That will add another week at least. I don't want to be away from your brother that long."

"Joe will be fine, Pa. Hoss and I will look out for him."

"Along with all your other obligations?" he asked, turning to Adam. "Son, a man can only stretch himself _so_ thin."

"Mister Cartwright?"

Ben started and looked toward the guest room. A rather pallid DeLoyd Beaumont was standing in the open doorway, supported by his brother.

Startled, the older man rose and went to him. "You should be in bed."

"I'm fine, sir," the blond man drawled.

"You don't look fine." He was trembling slightly. "Come and take a seat by the fire at least."

Hoyle caught his eye as they began to move. "I tried to tell him..."

Once Del was seated, he said, "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, sir."

"Ben."

He nodded. "Ben. I had a mind to ask you, but didn't want to take advantage. I mean, any man would have done what I did to try to save your son."

"But you _did_ save him." Ben smiled. "What would you like to ask me?"

Del's eyes went to his brother. "We've been traveling for some time and are low on funds. I was wondering, I mean, would you have any jobs available? I can do just about anything around a ranch and the boy is capable of anything your average hand can do. If we could work a month or so, then we could be on our way again. Back toward Louisiana."

Ben reached out and laid a hand on Del's shoulder. "We'd be happy to have you. I'm sure it would make Joe happy too. This way he can get to know you." He nodded toward Hoyle. "I have a feeling my youngest and your brother would enjoy each other's company as well."

"Thank you, Ben." Del gingerly lifted his injured arm. "Once this is healed, I promise you I will carry any load you give me."

"There's plenty to do with the upcoming roundup and the horses that need to be readied for the army contract. We can use every hand we can get."

"You just put Hoyle with me." Del glanced at his brother and grinned. "I'll see he keeps out of trouble."

Ben looked at the curly-headed youth. He recognized that roll of the eyes and the resolute set to his jaw. "That's good."

He held out his hand. Del took it with his good one.

"It's a deal."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe woke to Doctor Paul Martin prodding his injured ankle with his fingers. "Hey!" he shouted. "That hurts!"

The older man looked over his glasses, pinning him with a calculating stare. "I _thought_ that would wake you up."

"You could have thought of a nicer way," he whined as tears formed in his eyes.

"But not more effective," the doctor said with a tight smile.

Joe drew in a breath, fighting the pain. "Is it broken?"

Paul put his foot down gently. "If you'd asked me last night, son, I would have said 'yes'. I even told your father it was."

"But..."

"But, now that I have had a chance to examine it more closely, the answer it 'no'. There's a chance it's fractured, but I think it's just a bad sprain." He sat back. "You are a very lucky young man. From what your father said, you did just about everything you could to break it."

Joe nodded. He didn't like to think about what had happened. When he did, he felt a sense of panic rise up in him even though he knew he was here, at home, and safe. He didn't remember much but what he did remember was more than enough. He remembered that man named Pythias. And a gun barrel pressing into his hair. Pain exploding as he hooked his foot into the upturned root and then a heavy weight falling on him.

Not being able to breathe...

"Joe?" Paul Martin's hand landed on his arm. "Son, are you all right?"

He was shaking. He couldn't help it.

"Just cold," he lied.

The older man rose. "I'll have Hop Sing come up and stoke the fire. We don't want you taking a chill. There's always the possibility of some kind of infection setting in even in the best of circumstances."

As the doctor snapped his bag closed, Joe asked, "How long, Doc?"

"Do you have to stay off of it? With a sprain like that, I'd recommend two weeks bed rest, and another three with limited mobility. And even then, only on crutches."

He must have looked crestfallen because the older man laughed.

"With a Cartwright, _one_ week off of it, _two_ weeks on crutches and then, young man, after that only light ranch work and plenty of rest for two more weeks." Paul held out his hand. "Deal?"

A whole week in bed. A whole week to do nothing but lay there and think about what _could_ have happened.

Joe swallowed over the lump in his throat as he reached out and took the other man's hand. "Deal."

"See to it you do as you _promise_. Too much too soon and you'll just have to start all over again."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Paul touched his head affectionately and then headed for the door. The older man glanced back at him when he reached it and then stepped into the hall.

After a moment he heard voices.

One was his pa.

Several minutes later his father stepped into the room. He had a breakfast tray in his hands. "Good morning, Joseph," Pa said, smiling. "Are you hungry."

Joe shrugged. "Not really."

Instantly, his father was alert. "Are you not feeling well? Should I get Paul back?"

He loved his pa, but he was a worry-wart and worse than any old maiden lady.

"I'm fine," he said, shifting and pulling his body up so he was sitting more than laying. "The Doc messed around with my foot. Kind of put my stomach off."

The older man put the tray on the bedside table and then sat on the bed beside him. Pa reached out then, touching the side of his face, tracing one of the scratches he'd gotten when Pythias dragged him over the ground. As a boy that touch had been a lifeline for him. He'd long for it if a day went by without it. He still did, if the truth be known, but now that he was a man, well, it seemed he wasn't supposed to feel that way. Or at least, not supposed to show it.

He squirmed his way out from under it. "Pa, I'm fine," he protested.

His pa didn't exactly look hurt. It was more like, well, _lost_ maybe. Lifting his hand, he sat back. "Paul says you need to stay off your feet for a week and after that, use a crutch for a few more."

His nose scrunched up in spite of his best efforts and his voice, when he spoke, came out in a whine. "Ah, Pa, you know Doc Martin's over-cautious. I can be up in a day or two –"

"You will do no such thing, young man, and that's an order." His father's tone was stern, unbending. "If I see you out of this bed in less than seven days, I personally guarantee I will hire a nursemaid to sit at your side and make sure you stay put for the next one."

Joe pulled a face, the one that made it look like he was about to get sick. "What am I going to do for a whole week cooped up in my room? Hoss and Adam ain't gonna have any time to spend with me – "

"No, they _aren't."_

He ignored the correction. "I'll go stir crazy!"

"I'm sure we can find something to keep you occupied."

Joe fell silent. He didn't like the sound of that.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. A second later a young man appeared in it, holding their crystal syrup container. "Mister Cartwright?" he asked.

"Yes, Hoyle, what is it?"

"Hop Sing said you forgot this." The youth held out the pitcher. As he did, their eyes made contact. Hoyle, whoever he was, kind of smiled.

He did the same.

"Joe, this is Hoyle Beaumont. He's the younger brother of the man who saved you."

Joe blinked. He'd thought Adam... As he lay there, looking at Hoyle, more of that horrible moment flashed through his mind. He'd seen a man running toward him. He thought it was Adam, but then realized his coloring was wrong. A second later he'd hooked his foot, the pain had come, and he'd fallen to the ground nearly unconscious. Pythias was fuming, cussing at him, telling him he was gonna shoot him in the head. He felt the barrel of the pistol press into the curls dangling in front of his eyes and then... _then_...before the outlaw could cock the hammer Pythias stiffened. A look of disbelief entered his eyes. And then – blood spurting everywhere – the dead man had toppled over on him.

Joe shuddered from head to foot – which, of course, caused his pa to tuck his blankets in like he was a little kid.

"Pa..."

His father looked at him, confused, and then chuckled even as Hop Sing appeared in the door behind Hoyle, a load of wood in his arms.

"Doctor send Hop Sing up. Say, make fire warmer for Little Joe."

The older man nodded. "Excellent timing, Hop Sing." With that, he crossed over to where Hoyle was standing and took the pitcher. Placing it next to the tray, his pa said, "Well, I'll leave you two young men alone to get acquainted." Looking at him again, Pa added, "Try to eat something, Joseph. The quicker you build up your strength, the quicker you'll be able to do the things you want to do."

"Yes, sir," he agreed reluctantly.

In passing, his father placed a hand on Hoyle's shoulder. "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

Joe watched him go. So did Hoyle. For a long time neither of them said anything. It was like a grown-up to think that, just because you were two men about the same age, you'd have all kinds of things in common. Most of the time it wasn't true.

An hour later, Joe realized that Hoyle coming to the Ponderosa was just about the best 'get well' present he'd ever had.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

When Hoss got back from town around suppertime, the first thing he did was check in on his little brother. He found Joe in better spirits than he could have hoped, sitting up in bed with a board on his lap, playing checkers with Hoyle. Both boys looked up when he came into the room. Joe grinned while Hoyle looked a little guilty, like he was where he shouldn't be. Hoss told him to stay put and then reached over and ruffled his little brother's hair and called him 'punkin'. A minute later he exited the room to the sound of Joe's protest.

He laughed all the way down the stairs.

"You're in good spirits," brother Adam said as he came to the table and took a seat.

The big man nodded. "It's right satisfying to see Joe lookin' so good."

Adam's eyes went to the stairs and the landing beyond. "Yes," he said quietly.

Hoss reached for a roll and the butter to put on it. "You ain't still stewin' over Del shootin' that there outlaw instead of you, are you?"

His older brother leaned back in his chair. "No. Not 'stewing' exactly."

"You said you heard Joe scream and it stopped you for a split second." Hoss looked thoughtful. "Would have stopped me too."

"Del didn't stop. He just plowed ahead as if he hadn't heard anything."

"Joe ain't Del's brother, Adam." Hoss stopped with the roll halfway to his lips. "Sides. Is somethin' wrong with that?"

Adam blinked. "No. No. Just surprising. That scream came out of nowhere. It sounded like..." His older brother paused. Adam drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "That scream sounded like it came as a result of a killing blow." His older brother's jaw was tight. "I was sure Joe was dead."

Hoss considered it for a second and then dismissed what his brother said – because he _had_ to. "Del ain't said much about what's made him the man he is. Maybe he's used to it, been in battle or something."

"Maybe." Adam straightened up. "Anyway, he saved Joe's life. We owe him a debt of gratitude that will be hard to repay."

Hoss popped the roll into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. Then he washed it down with a bit of milk. "Hiring him on – him and Hoyle – will pay some toward it."

"It will certainly help around here, too. With Joe down and Pa gone for days to collect those records, it's going to be up to you and me to keep the ranch running."

"What you think about that there thing with Hawks?" he asked. "You think he's gonna be able to keep that land?"

Adam grimaced. "Stanfield Hawks is as bull-headed as they come, and not entirely honest. I think he'd going to do everything in his power to get that piece of land away from Pa."

"You gonna go meet up with Pa when he gets back to Genoa?" Their Pa had suggested it. He always valued brother Adam's cool logical view of things.

The black-haired man straightened up just as Hop Sing entered the room carrying a steaming platter of roast beef. "We'll see. It will depend on how things go around here."

"I imagine he's gonna need you, Adam. Joe will be up on crutches by then. With Del and Hoyle, we can manage."

His older brother nodded to their cook as he accepted a plate. "Like I said, we'll see." As Adam put his fork to the beef, he asked, his eyes on the empty seat at the head of the table, "Where's Pa now?"

"Right here," their father said as he came in the door. After depositing his hat and coat on the rack, and placing his gun belt on the credenza, the older man joined them.

"Where you been, Pa?" Hoss asked.

His father nodded to Hop Sing as the Chinese man placed a plate before him. "Thank you," he said before answering. "I got word one of the hands was injured. Luckily, it turned out to be nothing."

"Me and Adam were talking," he said as his father picked up his glass.

"Oh? About what?"

"About you bein' gone gettin' what you need for that there Hawks' case." Hoss paused. One did _not_ tell Ben Cartwright what to do – not if they valued their hide. "You're gonna need Adam with you."

His pa sighed. "Well, I certainly would like to have my oldest college-educated boy at my side, but it will depend on a number of things."

Adam smiled. "If you need me, Pa, I'll be there. You know that."

"Well, we don't have to make a decision for a few weeks on any account. As the Good Book says, _'Take therefore no thought for the morrow, for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.'_

Hoss stopped with a forkful of beef just past his lips. "Evil?"

Adam snorted. "It's a manner of speech."

The over-sized teen shoveled the beef in his mouth and thought hard on that as he chewed.

He certainly hoped so.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Roy Coffee stared hard at the two mangy-lookin' outlaws he had locked up in his cell, a frown creasing his forehead. If they weren't two of the dumbest galoots he'd ever locked up! Wasn't no way either of them had planned that there robbery in Genoa. They had more muscle between their ears than they had on their arms! All of which meant, the men what planned it were either six feet under now or still on the loose. He figured they got about half of them there bank robbers, includin' that Pythias Morgan fellow who was wanted in just about every state in the union and most of its territories too. The bad thing was, that meant the ones still on the loose were probably plannin' to rob another bank and that could be all the way from Virginia City to Tombstone. The only place they knew was safe was Genoa.

Wasn't a bank robber alive'd be stupid enough to try robbin' two banks in the same town.

Sidling over to his desk, Roy sat down and picked up the wanted posters he'd been sent, eying them again to see if anyone jumped out at him. Pythias Morgan'd had a reward on his head. He'd have to talk to Ben about that and make sure Del Beaumont got what he had comin'. It sure was lucky that young man had signed on for the posse in Genoa. Beaumont had a clear head and a sure hand and had used both to save Ben's boy. The lawman smiled as he tossed the posters to the desktop. That Little Joe, he _was_ a caution. Seemed like every bit of minx that had been in his mother and all the determination and temper of his pa had ended up collidin' in that boy's skinny frame. Keepin' his youngest alive had just about become Ben's main occupation. Roy ran a hand over his chin and glanced at the drawing of Pythias Morgan again. Would have been a downright shame if a skunk like Morgan had killed Little Joe.

A downright shame and probably the end of his pa.

The sound of the jail door opening brought the older man out of his reverie. Roy looked up to find one of his deputies standing in the open doorway.

"You got somethin' to say, come on in and say it, boy, he said when the boy just stood there letting the wind blow in.

His deputy nodded. "Trouble at the Bucket, Roy."

The sheriff made a dismissive noise. "Well, now, why don't you tell me just which _kind_ of trouble? Angry gambler who thinks he got cheated? Miner who's been insulted by a cowboy? Barroom girl with a run in her stockin'?"

"One of the girls has been beaten."

Roy sobered instantly. "Bad?"

"Pretty bad."

The older man grabbed his gun belt and buckled it on. "What's her name?" he asked, having a suspicion that it might be that older one named Viney. She had a mouth on her and he'd warned her more than once that one day he wouldn't be there to stop someone tryin' to shut it.

"It's one of the young ones. Maisie, I think."

Roy froze. "Maisie O'Malley. Sean's girl?"

His deputy shrugged.

He'd watched Maisie grow up. Like her sisters, she was a beauty. And like Ben's youngest, she was a _rare_ one. He'd heard she decided to be an actress and thought working at the Bucket would teach her a thing or two about the world and what was in it.

Somehow, he didn't think _this_ was what she'd had in mind.

"I'll head right over. You go see if you can find the Doc. I know he was out to the Cartwright's this morning. Let's hope he's made it back to town."

The young man nodded and was gone.

Roy picked up his badge and pinned it on his chest and then caught his coat from the hook by the door. Night was fallin' and it was a sight colder than it should have been for this time of year.

That, he thought with a grunt, or it was just this job and all it entailed that left him cold.

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In the end it turned out the girl was pretty banged up, but the Doc said she wasn't in any danger. The man who attacked her hadn't been a local, but a city slicker she'd been set to 'entertain' the night before. He was old enough to be her father and had come into the saloon bellowin' about her bein' a no-show, threatenin' to break every last glass and bottle in the place until he could talk to her. Nothin' unusual about that. The saloon-keeper sent him up to her room where, evidently, the man had found Maisie packin'. Sam hadn't thought much more about it until the man come flyin' down the stairs and walked straight out the door without saying a word, leavin' a trail of bright red drops behind him.

Seems his knuckles were bleedin' from the despicable thing he'd done.

Roy shook his head as he descended the stairs. He'd looked up Viney and asked her if she'd mind the girl 'til she was better. In spite of what she did for a livin', Viney didn't like men much, so she was more than happy to ride shot-gun in case the slicker came back. _Literally_. He warned her he'd have to put her in jail and probably stretch her neck a bit if she did anythin' stupid. Viney'd just laughed.

 _Bein' born_ , she said, was the stupidest thing _she'd_ ever done.

As the older man walked back to the jail, feeling everyone of his more than fifty years, a clock somewhere struck midnight. Another day was over. Tomorrow it would all begin again. Tomorrow he'd wake up and get dressed and first thing go to the Bucket to talk to Maisie O'Malley. Then he'd head for the office where he'd pour over those wanted posters again, memorizing each and every poorly rendered face. Tomorrow he'd take out a search party and return to that place where Little Joe Cartwright had almost lost his life and see what he could find. He'd ride out to the Ponderosa next and check in with Ben to see how his youngest was doin', and then he'd question as many of the men who had joined in the search for Little Joe as he could find in order to see if there was anythin' he missed – a word, a clue; a footprint man or beast.

They were out there somewhere, those men who had robbed the Genoa City bank, and his aging bones were telling him one thing loud and clear.

They weren't done.

END PART ONE


	7. Chapter 6

PART TWO

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 _The waters compassed me about, even to the soul: the depth closed me round about, the weeds were wrapped about my head. Jonah 2:5_

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SIX

Hoss Cartwright eyed his older brother who stood beside him clinging onto the same rope he was, and then turned back to watch the progress of his younger brother who seemed hell-bent on breaking his neck. Little Joe'd insisted on rappellin' down the side of a cliff to save a stray calf that had got stuck on a two foot-wide ledge some fifteen feet below. They'd told him to forget it and he'd just about bit their head off for it, callin' them all sorts of things, some of which would have made even old Viney at the Bucket blush.

"Joe's taking too many chances," Adam said, his words as tight as his grip on the rope.

"So why'd you let him do it?" he asked.

Adam sighed. "Because I knew if I _didn't_ , Joe would come back out here on his own later and try. Dangerous as this is, at least you and I are here to keep the worst from happening."

Hoss shook his head. "Ever since those bank robbers took him, its like Little Joe's got to prove somethin' to hisself. Like, well, he don't dare admit _anythin'_ scares him."

His brother eyed the drop before them. "And _that_ scares me."

He thought a moment. "It's hard, ain't it? Knowin' what to do, I mean. Before he left Pa kept quotin' Doc Martin and tellin' me I gotta have patience with Joe, that we gotta wait until little brother works things out."

"I got the same speech," Adam agreed. As his brother adjusted his grip, one eyebrow peaked and his dimples appeared. " _And_ the stern look. Pa practically ordered me to give Joe his head. Let him gallop it out."

The big man looked at the rope in their hands. Joe had just tugged on it, meaning he had reached the ledge safely. "That what we're doin' now? Givin' Joe his head?"

Adam shrugged. "In a way. The problem is, Pa also told me to keep Joe out of trouble."

"Kind of hard to do both, ain't it?" Hoss grinned.

"Kind of."

"What're you two old ladies doing up there?" Little Joe's voice called up from below. "Chatting over tea? I got the calf roped and ready. Come on! Pull!"

Hoss puffed out a sigh. "You suppose if a man rolls his eyeballs one too many times they can get stuck up inside his head?"

"I would suggest the use of empirical data," his college-educated brother said as he began to pull hand over hand . "Experiment. Observe. Record." And with that, Adam did about the best eyeball roll Hoss had ever seen. "They came back down," he reported.

The big man snorted like a horse sensing a rattler. "Well, if anyone's eyes was gonna get stuck, it'd be yours, older brother! They done made that turn enough times since Joe's been born."

"Hey!" Joe yelled again. "Pay attention! Give it another tug, she's almost there!"

The baby calf mooed in fear as they complied and it's reddish head topped the rise. Hoss dropped the rope and went to her. Reaching down, he caught the animal in his arms and brought the little lady up all in one movement. Laughing, he set her down, untied the harness of ropes that bound her, and then slapped her on her rear and sent her running toward the small herd they'd corralled that morning.

"You bottle feeding her?" Little Joe shouted. "Let down the rope! I'm getting tired of waiting!"

Adam was at the edge looking down. "The rope's headed your way, Joe," he said as he played it out. "Be sure you secure it and double-check your knots before signaling us to pull you up."

"Doggone it, what kind of a fool do you think I am, older brother? I ain't gonna do that," came Joe's sarcastic reply. "I'm gonna tie the knots wrong so they let loose halfway up and I fall down the cliff and break my neck. Figured Pa would like it better that way!"

Hoss walked to Adam's side and took the rope and anchored it around his middle to make it extra secure.

"First dibs on who gets to smack some sense into baby brother when that curly head of his shows," he said as Joe's weight pulled him slightly toward the edge.

"No way." Adam's dark head shook from side to side as one black eyebrow cocked. "Being oldest has _got_ to be good for something."

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It felt odd to sit at the head of the table.

Though it was his right as oldest present, Adam still shifted uncomfortably in his pa's chair. If it had just been the three of them, he would have stayed in his normal spot, but they'd invited Del and Hoyle to join them and added Roy Coffee to the mix when the lawman had unexpectedly shown up. Roy was freshly returned from yet another fruitless search for the men who'd taken Little Joe captive and he wanted to ask him a few more questions. Joe had immediately grown sullen. Over the last few weeks his baby brother had made it abundantly clear that he had _no_ desire whatsoever to talk about what had happened. From outward appearances, it seemed had happened. Joe's scratches and cuts were healed, as was his ankle. _Inward_ was another matter. As predicted, Little Joe had become even more _un_ predictable. He was more volatile as well. The slightest thing set him off. And he wasn't sleeping. Nightmares plagued him, awaking both him _and_ them, sometimes several times a night. Joe, of course, denied every time that he had had a night terror. Adam looked at him now where he saw at the opposite end of the table with his head close to Hoyle's. The circles under Joe's eyes and the sallow coloring of his cheeks begged that to be a lie. There'd been more than one time in the days since Pa had left that he'd had to use his authority just to get Joe to eat. Well, in all honesty to get Joe to do just about _anything_ at all. They were walking a tightrope, him and his youngest brother.

One of these days, in spite of everything, _one_ of them was going to fall off.

"So, Roy," Hoss said as he picked up a spoonful of potatoes, "you ain't seen hide nor hair of any of those bank robbers?"

"Not seen or heard, Hoss," Roy replied as he reached for his cup of coffee. "Been askin' around too, all the way to California. There's a lot of rumors, but not much fact."

"What are the rumors, Roy?" Adam asked as Hop Sing offered to refill his water. Placing a hand over the top of the glass he declined. "Or can you say?"

The older man nodded. "Don't see no problem in this here company, since this effects you all – most of all Little Joe."

Adam watched his little brother's eyes move to the lawman, but he remained locked in conversation with Hoyle. The two had become close over the last six weeks.

Roy leaned back in his chair. "Seems there was something like six men robbed the bank. Wade Harvey was the brains of the outfit and Pythias Morgan, the brawn. The other three were along for the ride – and the money." He sniffed. "Now we know out of those five, three are dead and two, including Wade, are on their way to prison."

"That's five out of five, Roy," Del said. He'd been listening, but hadn't spoken until now. "Why are you still looking if you have them all?"

"Well, you see, that's where these here rumors come into play," the lawman replied. "Witnesses in Genoa claim they saw eight men on the outskirts of town, not five. If that's true, there's three of them robbers remainin'."

"Front men, you think?" Adam asked. "Or maybe lookouts?"

"Maybe the brains of the outfit?" Hoss chimed in.

"Somethin' of that sort. Anyhow, I ain't gonna sleep right until I figure it out. Either we got us three bad men on the loose in these parts, or we don't. I want to know which it is. " Roy turned in his seat and looked to the end of the table. "That's why I wanted to talk to Little Joe again."

Adam saw his brother stiffen at the mention of his name. Joe glanced at Hoyle and then at the lawman. "I told you all I know, Sheriff Coffee," he said as he straightened in his seat.

"I'm sure you did, boy. I'm sure you did. It's just, well, sometimes things come back to a man, days or even weeks later. I wanted to ask you if you thought you seen any other robbers than the five we can account for. Maybe in the trees, or hiding in the shadows. Maybe a shadow themselves, movin' at the edge of your eye."

Little Joe glared at the lawman for a moment and then closed his eyes. He honestly seemed to be trying to remember. After a moment, he shook his head. "I just saw a line of men. I didn't have a chance to count them." He swallowed hard. "Mostly I saw Wade and...Morgan. Sorry."

Roy's voice was soft. "Ain't nothin' to say you're sorry for, son. You had other things to think about."

The prospect of those 'other things' hung over the table and between them for a moment of silence.

Finally Roy turned to Del. "What about you? You see anythin'?"

"Adam and I were focused on the man holding Joe," he responded in his thick southern drawl. "I was sure Pythias was going to kill him."

Even as Roy turned to him, Adam's eyes remained fixed on his brother. Joe was visibly shaking now. "Same with you, Adam?"

His brother was scooting his chair back. It was time to change the subject.

"Let's discuss it over a glass of brandy once supper ends, shall we, Roy?" His eyes flicked to his brother and the lawman got it.

"Sure thing, Adam. " Roy took another sip of coffee. "You hear from your pa yet?"

He nodded. "Pa wired and asked if I could join him in a few days. Seems there are some papers he left here at the house that he needs in order to finish building his case against Stanfield."

"You'll be going to Genoa then?"

Adam's eyes went to Joe who was standing, ready to leave the table.

"Day after tomorrow," he replied, "which brings me to the upcoming roundup. Since I'll be leaving to join Pa, we need to get that small herd out of the south forty and join them with the larger herd. Before I go, I have to ride into town to gather a few more things to support Pa's case. I thought – while Hoss goes to check on the big herd, maybe you could drive the other one up to meet him...Joe."

It was a risk. Maybe a big one. But the look his baby brother gave him when it dawned on him what he had just said was worth it.

"Me? _You're_ gonna trust _me?"_ Joe exclaimed.

"Any reason I shouldn't?" he asked quietly.

"Heck, no!" Little Joe was grinning from ear to ear.

"It's about fifty head. You think you can handle that?"

"Can I pick my own men?"

Adam raised a hand. "Whoa. We'll pick them together."

Joe seemed to accept that. He glanced at his newfound friend. "Can Hoyle come?"

He hesitated. Not because he didn't trust Hoyle. He was nearly seventeen and he'd seen him around the ranch. Hoyle was no stranger when it came to working with cattle, or to hard work itself for that matter. He and Joe had done a good job mending the fences. But...and it was a big 'but'...he knew as well what could happen when you put two teenage boys together with little or no supervision. Adam's lips quirked at the edges.

He'd been young himself once, after all _._

 _Years_ ago, it seemed.

"Joe, I don't know..."

His brother's jaw tightened. His nostrils flared. 'Here it comes,' he thought.

Instead, Joe roped in his anger and laid out a good argument. "Hoyle's older than me, Adam. He knows how to rope and ride. He can be a big help. And you said yourself, no one looks out for your back like a friend. "

"Hoyle's been on drives before, Adam," Del said, adding his support. "He knows his way around steers."

Adam glanced at Roy Coffee whose light blue eyes reflected his own mixed feelings. Hoss was watching him closely, obviously wondering what he was up to. It was hard to explain. It just seemed to him that, maybe, if he showed Joe he thought he was man enough to do this – that he _trusted_ him – it might help his little brother to let go of the horror of what had happened six weeks before.

Finally, he nodded. "All right. You two can go. After we finish eating, we'll head out to the bunkhouse together and recruit a few others to go with you. You can head out in the morning."

"Sure thing, Adam," Little Joe said, his green eyes smiling. "Thanks."

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Adam and Sheriff Coffee were having their brandy. Rather than remaining downstairs, Joe took Hoyle up to his room where they sat on the bed talking about the drive and how much fun it was gonna be to spend several days together without their older brothers around. They'd got to do that with the fence – spend time together – but most days now they had their own chores to do that kept them apart and they only got to talk an hour or so in the evenings.

He liked Hoyle.

The southerner had been kind of quiet when they met, but over the last few weeks Joe'd found out his new friend could talk your arm off when he wanted to. He'd also found out Hoyle wasn't like him in one way. He had one of those tempers that simmered until it suddenly boiled over. Everyone knew when _he_ was mad. Hoss told him he looked like a loco stallion. He'd found out about Hoyle's temper one day when one of the other hands had made fun of his friend's slow Louisiana drawl. At first it seemed the teasing didn't bother his friend, but then quicker than a hot knife sliced butter, Hoyle had the other man up against the barn with his arms pinned behind his back and his nose smashed into the boards.

They'd settled it without pa hearing about it.

Joe stared at the curly headed youth. His friend had risen from the bed and was looking at one of the books Adam had given him the year before that he kept on the table by the window. Even though Hoyle was only two years older than him, he was pretty worldly-wise. He'd been with a girl and was no stranger to a shot of whiskey. He said traveling alone with his brother had taken him into places most kids weren't allowed in since Del couldn't leave him on his own. Joe snorted. He'd thought about that, and then thought about what it would have been like to travel with _his_ older brother. Somehow he doubted Adam would have taken him to a sporting house or into a saloon. Most likely he would have spent his days wearing a fancy suit and sitting in some library or attending the opera, or some other boring thing like that.

"A thousand for your thoughts," Hoyle said with a grin.

Joe started. Then he smiled too. "You ain't got a thousand."

His friend shrugged. "Not now, I haven't. Maybe one day."

"When you get back to Louisiana, you mean?" Joe asked rising and crossing to where his friend stood looking down at something on his dresser.

"Who's this?" Hoyle asked, picking up the frame that held the image of a beautiful blond woman and holding it out to him. "I don't remember this being here the other night. She's real pretty. Friend of yours?"

 _Breathe,_ Joe, he thought, _breathe._ _It's all right._ It was 'all right', he told himself, for Hoyle to pick the frame up so callously. He didn't know. He _couldn't_ understand. Joe held his hand out. His whole body sighed when his fingers closed around the image.

"No," he said softly. "It's my mother." He'd taken the picture out of his jacket pocket and placed it on a stand on the dresser the night before so he could look at her. Every time Hoyle or Del opened their mouths and he heard their thick southern accent, it reminded him of her.

"You miss her."

Joe's eyes flicked to his friend's face. Did he? How could he miss something he couldn't _really_ remember having? What he would say was that he _longed_ for her. He longed to know who she had been, what had formed her – to see where she had come from.

"I hardly knew her," he said at last, replacing the frame on the dresser. "Most of what I remember is because of my brothers and my pa told me. I wish..."

"What?"

He looked at Hoyle. "I wish I could go with you to New Orleans. I sure would like to see it."

"Come with us then."

Joe blinked. "What?"

"Come _with_ us. You'd be welcome." Hoyle beamed. "Hell, we'd have grand time of it."

He shook his head. "Adam would never let me go – or pa."

The blond shrugged. "Then don't ask them. Just go."

Six words. Six _little_ words.

Could it really be that simple?

"Joe!" Adam's voice carried up the stairs. "I'm ready to head out to the bunkhouse. You coming?"

"Be right there!"

As he turned, Hoyle's hand came down on his shoulder. "Joe, you're like the little brother I never had. Del and me, we could show you a good time. And you could always come back. You know your family would welcome you back." Hoyle scoffed at his distressed look and then grinned. "It's not going to happen with a Cartwright. I know that. But it would be an adventure, wouldn't it?"

Joe nodded.

It certainly would.

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Roy Coffee was a man who liked everythin' tied up. He didn't cotton well to the idea of loose ends. The rumors about there bein' more bank robbers on the lam keep nigglin' at him and so he kept lookin' and askin' questions. He'd found another feller who thought he'd seen a group of eight men camped near the outskirts of Genoa a day or two before the bank robbery. He'd been able to identify Morgan and Harvey from the wanted posters. It had been dark, he said, and he'd only seen a few faces lit by the camp firelight when he stopped to ask directions. There'd been an older kind of nondescript feller with brown hair and a young one, and the rest were in-between. Since it was dark, he had no idea of the color of their eyes or hair. A couple were dressed in suits, but most like ranch hands or drovers.

Which just about described the male population of Virginia City and every other city between it and Genoa.

He was riding now toward the O'Malley place. When he'd got back to the office, he'd found a note there from Maisie, or rather, Madeline O'Malley. The girl's mother had come to town when she heard what happened and taken her daughter home. Last he heard, the girl had mended right nicely and decided to stay. He guessed Madeline's days of dreamin' of bein' an actress were done. A good thing too. The girl got a taste of what life in the big city would be like from that city slicker that beat her. A pretty one like her, alone in say Reno or Carson City? Well, he didn't like to think about it.

As he pulled up out front of the O'Malley's homestead the youngest of Sean's kids, a little boy named Rory, came flying out, his red hair flashing like copper coins in the sun.

"Rory O'Malley! You get back in here!"

Roy dismounted and removed his hat as he approached Maureen, who was standing in the open doorway, her eye on the young'un. She was in her mid-forties but had the face and figure of a woman ten years younger.

"I'd ask what can we do for you, sheriff, but I suppose you're here to see our Maddie," she said as she wiped flour from her hands onto her apron and then shooed the little boy back inside.

"Yes, Ma'am. Is that all right with you?"

Maureen sighed. "Sheriff, I'm tellin' you, that beatin' is the best thing that could have happened to the child." She struck away a wandering lock of hair. "That's a hard thing for a mother to say, but it's God's own truth. It brought her back to her senses."

"The Good Book says good comes out'a bad," he said.

Madeline's mother stared at him for a moment and then said, "I'll send her out. The wee one is in the kitchen and I don't want him hearin'."

"Completely understand, Ma'am," Roy said with a tip of his hat.

He hadn't seen Madeline for about two weeks and the lawman was pleased to find most that of the bruises from the beating were gone. She had a little scar on her lip where it had been split, but that was all that was visible.

Most of the girl's scars, he knew, were on the inside.

"Do I call you Maisie or Madeline?" he asked.

The redhead looked at him. Her large dark eyes were haunted. "Maisie's dead and Madeline, well, she's not quite livin' yet. Call me Maddie."

He nodded. "Maddie. I came because I found your note. Was there somethin' you wanted to talk about?"

"Is Little Joe all right?" she asked, surprising him.

"You know he is, Maddie. I seen you in church just this last week. Little Joe, well, he was there too."

She looked troubled. "Seeing isn't always believin'."

He noticed her accent was thicker, since she was livin' at home. "What are you worried about Maddie?"

The girl glanced back at the house and then wrapped her arms around her frame. "The man who beat me. I saw him yesterday."

His pale eyes narrowed. "Where?"

Maddie nodded toward the trees beside the road. "There. He was watching the house."

"Did he see you?"

She shook her head. "No. I was inside. I saw him through the window."

Roy glanced and then turned back. "Did anyone talk to him?" When she shook her head 'no', he had to ask, "So what makes you think he might pose some danger to Little Joe Cartwright?"

"I..." She swallowed hard. "I was foolish. I told him Joe was the one who talked me out of...performing for him."

"That was _before_ the beatin'?"

"Yes. Little Joe, well, he told me I was better than that." She winced. "I got him into trouble with his brother. I don't want to get him in trouble with...this man."

He held her gaze. "What's his name? This city slicker?" When she hesitated, he added, "Now come on, Maddie, you know I can't help you _or_ Little Joe if I don't know his name and what he looks like."

She shivered a bit before speaking. "He's about your age. Maybe a little taller. He likes to wear fancy suits and smoke fancy cigars. They make him feel like he's better than others. " She lifted her hand to her face. "He has a little scar, right here," she pointed above her right eyebrow. "Sort of like a dimple." Maddie's jaw tightened. "His name is Weston. Weston McCloud."

"Sounds like he should be right easy to spot with that scar." When the girl said nothing more, he nodded. "Well, thanks for the information, Maddie. I'll head on out to the Ponderosa and make Ben aware this here man might be lookin' to harm Joe."

As he started to turn away, he felt Maddie's hand on his arm. "Sheriff?"

"Yes?"

"If you... If you see Little Joe, tell him I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get him involved. I just..." She drew a breath, held it, and then released it slowly. "Weston is such a _pig_ , I wanted him to know what a real gentleman is like."

He'd have to tell Ben that too. Maybe, in spite of his high temper and headstrong ways, Little Joe would turn out all right.

"I'm sure Ben will be right proud to hear that." Roy patted her arm. "Now you go on inside and you stay inside or with someone from your family, until you hear from me again. You hear?"

She gave him a little squeeze and then she stepped back. "I will. Thank you."

As he mounted his horse, Maddie's mother stepped outside again. He gave them both a wave and then turned and began to the trek back to Virginia City. The O'Malleys lived on the side of Virginia City opposite the Cartwrights. It would be night before he got back to town. He wouldn't be able to deliver Maddie's message until halfway through the day tomorrow.

Roy looked up as he urged his mount on, pressing the tired animal for just a little more speed.

"You keep them Cartwrights safe tonight, you hear, God? All of them, but most of all, Little Joe."

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Adam was smiling as he walked back to the house. Joe had done a good job in selecting the men to help him move the steers. He'd been afraid his young brother would limit his choices to the men closest to his age – those in their late teens and twenties with less experience – instead he had suggested a couple of older men including Dan Tolliver, who was in his sixties. Tollivar, along with thirty-four year old Joshua Bates, Hoyle, and Joe, would make up the quartet that would drive the small herd north. There was nothing complicated or difficult about the task, but the fact that he had given Joe the responsibility seemed to sit well with his little brother. Joe had been laughing and grinning like his old self when he went off to the barn to check on Cochise.

He'd left Del and Hoyle sitting in the great room when he took off with Joe. It had been about an hour so he didn't know if they would still be there, or if they would have returned to the bunkhouse, which was now their home. Hoyle had been reading and Del had been chatting with Hop Sing about the growing Chinese community in New Orleans. Between them they were trying to determine if any of their cook's countless cousins lived there. While the brothers were not completely sophisticated, Adam found chatting with them himself, especially Del, about the culture and art of the great city they lived close to invigorating. The only thing that troubled him was that Hoyle seemed pretty worldly-wise for a kid of sixteen. Still, he supposed that was to be expected since Del was his only family and so many years older.

He just hoped Hoyle wasn't filling Little Joe's head with the wrong kind of thoughts.

As he opened the door and stepped in, Adam glanced around. Hoyle was seated at the table now, eating a slice of pie supplied by Hop Sing. He didn't see Del. At least not at first. Then he saw him coming out of the area of Pa's office.

Adam frowned. "Looking for something?"

"Found it." Del grinned. "I was just looking at the map of the Ponderosa behind your father's desk. One thousand square miles." He let out a long low whistle. "That's a _lot_ of land!"

"Pa's worked hard for every acre," he said.

"I wouldn't doubt it." The blond man gestured toward the settee. "Mind if I wait while Hoyle finishes?"

"Of course not." Adam joined him as he sat down, taking a seat in one of the red chairs near the hearth. "First or second?"

Del frowned. "What?"

"First or second slice of pie?" He laughed. "If it was Joe, you'd be here through at least two."

Hop Sing answered for the other man as he came into the room with a glass of milk and set it down in front of Del's brother. "Hoyle good boy. Eat much. Grow like weed!"

Hoyle was about as small as Joe, if a little bulkier. He could probably use it.

"So," he began, turning back to Del, "you mentioned moving on when we talked earlier. Any time soon?"

The southerner nodded. "Soon."

"Joe will be upset. He's grown quite fond of your brother."

"We're fond of him too, Adam, and all your family. Still, we need to get home. Staying in Nevada isn't going to do much toward making it to Louisiana before the snow flies."

It was October now. Del was right. "You plan on taking the train?"

"As much as possible," the other man replied, shifting back on the settee. "With the wages your pa pays, we've got enough already. I figure we'll go when Joe and Hoyle get back from taking the cattle north."

"End of the week then."

Del nodded. Turning his head, he called out to his brother. "You full yet? It's getting late and I'd like to bed down soon."

Hoyle wiped his mouth with a napkin and rose. "Done. Thanks, Hop Sing. That was great!"

The Chinese man nodded. "Boy come any time. Hop Sing cook for him what he like. Make him grow tall like brother."

The youth laughed. "Somehow, I don't think all the pie in the world could do that, Hop Sing. But thanks for trying!"

Del had risen to his feet. "That foreman of yours will be shouting early in the morning, Adam. I'm for bed. How about you?"

He nodded. "As soon as Little Joe gets back from the barn. He's tending to Cochise."

The other man smiled. "He _does_ love that horse. You may be waiting a while."

"Maybe I'll go get a slice of that pie from Hop Sing."

Hoyle was still licking his lips. There was a drop of blackberry filling on his lower lip. "It's fine. I'm here to tell you that."

"You better get to sleep too, Hoyle. Little Joe will be up bright and early – if I have anything to do with it. We need to get those cattle moved and it will take you a day or two."

"Goodnight, Adam," Del said as he wrapped an arm around his brother and headed for the door.

"Good night."

Adam watched the pair go and then stood in the door looking out toward the barn. Del and Hoyle had such an easy relationship. He wondered why it couldn't be that way with him and Joe. Stepping off the porch, he noted that there was a light in the barn, so Joe must still be there brushing and bedding down Cochise. For a moment he thought about joining him, but then decided to head into the kitchen instead.

That blackberry pie was calling.

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Joe had finished brushing Cochise down. He'd returned the brushes to their proper places and was standing, talking to the Paint, explaining to his horse that they were going on a grand adventure in the morning. He'd asked Adam to let him pick out a horse for Hoyle to ride that could keep up with the black and white and amazingly, Adam had agreed. The pretty Palomino was in the next stall.

Together, they'd fly like the wind.

After giving Cochise a treat, Joe headed out of the barn. It was late and he knew Adam would be waiting up for him. He wondered if, when he got to twenty-five or thirty, his older brother would think he was old enough to come in on his own. Most of the time thinking about the way everybody treated him like he was made of glass made him angry. Not tonight. Tonight was a _good_ night. Adam had trusted him. Older brother had asked him for his opinion and let it stand.

When he was almost to the house Joe heard a noise that stopped him. He couldn't say exactly what it was, but it was out of place. Almost like someone stifling a laugh. He turned and looked back toward the barn, but saw nothing. With a shake of his head, he dismissed it. Probably his imagination.

"About time you came in," he heard his older brother say.

Joe swung, anticipating a dressing down for staying so long in the barn. Instead he found Adam holding out a piece of Hop Sing's blackberry pie.

"Last one," older brother said with a grin.

"Thanks," he said as he took it.

And he knew _Adam_ knew it was for more than just the pie.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

As soon as the two brothers entered the Cartwright house, a man emerged from the shadows beside the barn. He stared at the closed door and then, with a snort, returned to his horse and mounted.

Tomorrow was going to be _fun._


	8. Chapter 7

SEVEN

"Come on, Joe, you deserve it. You know you do."

Joe Cartwright looked sideways at his friend. Hoyle was grinning from ear to ear. They'd left Dan and Joshua watching the herd and were preparing to bed down for a few hours. The four of them had spent the early part of the day rounding up strays and then begun to drive the fifty or so cattle toward the place where they would meet up with Hoss. Dan had let him take the lead and he was feeling pretty good about everything he'd accomplished. Hoyle wanted to celebrate.

Hoyle had a bottle of whiskey.

Pa would not approve.

Let alone, Adam.

Joe shook his head. "I don't think its a good idea, Hoyle. Pa won't even let me sample to brandy in the cabinet. Says there will be a time, but the time isn't now."

Hoyle shrugged as he lifted an enamelware cup and poured some of the golden liquid into it.

"Well, if you're afraid –"

"I'm _not_ afraid," he replied – a little too quickly.

His companion raised the cup to his lips and looked at him over the rim. "What _are_ you then?" he asked before taking a sip.

Joe's jaw was tight.

Obedient? Respectful?

"Look, Hoyle, this chance to prove myself is important to me," he said at last. "I'm asking you as my friend to understand. Pa doesn't allow the hands to have liquor when they're on a drive. Too many things can go wrong."

"But this isn't _really_ a drive, is it?" Hoyle said, leaning back against the tree he had spread his bedroll under. "We're just picking up a few strays and delivering them."

After spreading out his bedroll, Joe turned and looked at his friend. Hoyle was a hard one to figure out. They had a lot in common, but there were also _big_ differences – the main one being that Hoyle seemed to feel he owed nothing to anyone but himself. He was close to Del, but their relationship was more like a partnership of equals rather than the older brother, baby brother one he had with Adam and Hoss. Hoyle was just under two years younger than him and already he'd been in saloons and sporting houses, tasted whiskey...

And he was carrying a handsome burl-handled Colt revolver on his hip.

"So, what do you say?" Hoyle asked, holding out the cup.

Joe eyed it with a frown. After several seconds of mental gymnastics, he said softly, "Tell you what. I'll take a sip if you let me handle that sidearm of yours." He'd asked once before and his companion had declined. He wasn't sure why.

Hoyle glanced at the gun on his hip. "Coralee, you mean?" He snorted as his fingers brushed the weapon's inlaid wood handle. "I don't know, _Little_ Joe. It doesn't seem to me you're _old_ enough to handle her."

His words stung. He wasn't a boy, even if his family refused to see it. Why, at his age Adam had practically been running the ranch!

"Whoa, Joe! Don't take my head off." His companion held out a hand at his look. "I'm not the one you're mad at, after all."

With a grin, Hoyle reached down and unbuckled the strap that held his gun in place. Removing it from the holster he held it and the cup out.

Joe drew in a deep, calming breath of air and took both.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hoss Cartwright stood beside his horse, one hand on a leather strap, staring up at the sky, a slight frown on his face. They were near where Joe and the others had the herd corralled for the night. He'd ridden back to join Adam, and the two of them were gonna – well, Adam had said 'circumspectly' – check on their little brother's progress before he headed out to join their Pa in Eagle Station.

That high-falutin' word meant they was gonna spy on Joe 'cause they was worried about him.

As his older brother came to his side, Hoss whistled low as he indicated the sky. "Looks like somethin's' blowin' up."

Adam looked. "A storm. We'd best get moving."

"I ain't arguin', Adam, but you know Joe's got Dan Tollivar with him. That boy ain't gonna run into any trouble with ol' Dan lookin' out for him and he's gonna be mighty upset if he finds out we didn't trust him.."

Adam pursed his lips. "It's not Joe I'm worried about."

"So who _are_ you worried about?"

His brother seemed to consider what he was going to say before saying it. "Hoyle Beaumont."

"Hoyle?" Hoss asked as he checked the final strap on his saddle. "What's wrong with the boy? He do somethin' wrong?"

"No." Adam placed his foot in the stirrup in preparation to mount. "It's more his attitude. The more interaction I have with him, the less I think he's a suitable companion for Joe."

"So how come you let the two of them go together?"

Adam's dimpled popped. "Just plain loco, I guess."

The big man snorted and then mounted himself. "No. Really, Adam. What's wrong?"

"I can't put my finger on it. Let's just say I think Hoyle is very _old_ for sixteen, and little brother is rather young and inexperienced for fourteen." He squared his shoulders as he took hold of the reins. "Joe's always pushing to take the lead but, most of the time, he follows. He's well..." Adam paused. "Too trusting."

"You think this thing with Hoyle – what you're sensin' – is anything other than hijinks?"

Adam shrugged. "Not really. I just think boys will be boys." He sighed. "I'd hate to see Joe ruin this chance to show that he can be responsible due to someone else's idea of 'fun'."

"Joe was awful excited, Adam, and right proud that you trusted him. I'm sure the boy will keep his head about him."

"I certainly hope so. Either way, when we get back I intend to talk to Del about his brother."

"Didn't you say they was leavin' soon, headin' back to New Orleans?"

His brother nodded.

"And sorry to say, I think it is none too soon."

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Joe sucked in air and breathed out satisfaction. There'd been less than half a cup of whiskey left and he'd drunk about half of that. It tasted dreadful and he'd coughed a dozen times, setting Hoyle off into gales of laughter. At first it had made him mad, but now, as a warm feeling coursed through him, making the world fuzzy at the edges, he thought it was funny too.

Soon they were both sniffing and snorting to wake the band!

With a hand wrapped around his middle to shore up his aching ribs, Joe pleaded, "Keep it down, Hoyle! You'll wake the cows!"

"Hello, cows!" Hoyle shouted.

"No, Hoyle, really!" Joe wiped the tears from his cheeks as he sobered instantly. "If Dan finds us, we're dead."

"That old man's hard of hearing," his friend grinned. He held up the bottle then. "You want anymore?"

Joe blinked. The world was wobbling a bit. "No, thanks."

"Not to your liking?" Hoyle asked as he poured a bit more into the cup before he stopped the bottle and put it away in his saddlebag.

He winced. "Truth to tell, it's awful!"

"The South stands insulted," Hoyle said with mock indigenization.

The South. They'd been talking about that before – about New Orleans, where his mama came from. Hoyle had asked him again to leave and travel there along with him and Del. He had no intention of doing so. Still, the thought of it was appealing in so many ways.

Maybe he could talk Pa into taking him there one day.

His companion nodded toward the sidearm that lay in his lap. "You want to shoot it?"

Joe's eyes dropped to the beautiful hand-crafted weapon, and then went to the rifle anchored on Cochise's saddle before coming back to the revolver. It was another of Pa's 'don'ts'. He said he would teach him himself – or Adam would – when he was old enough. He thought he might get one on his fifteenth birthday, which wasn't all that far away.

"Sure, I _want_ to shoot it, but – "

"Big brother Adam will have your hide if he finds out." Hoyle leaned forward. "Tell me, Joe, just _how_ is he going to find out?"

"Adam's got eyes in the back of his head," he snorted as he watched the world melt a little bit at the edges, "and on both sides. He don't miss anything."

Hoyle tossed the remainder of his drink into the grass and then rose and walked over to him. Towering over him, the older boy held out his hand. "Give it to me then."

Joe's fingers ran along the fine metal and the wood inlay. "Can I just keep it a minute more?"

"Give it up, Joe, or stand up beside me and shoot it. One or the other."

He licked his lips. "It'll startle the cattle. Might cause a stampede. I can't do that."

"We'll make sure it isn't loaded. There won't be any explosion, just a click."

Joe wrapped his fingers around the weapon's handle. It fit like a glove – like it was the most natural thing in the world. With a look at Hoyle, he slowly rose to his feet.

"Give it here. I'll check the chambers."

"I can do that." He'd watched his brothers do the same thing often enough. Joe opened the weapon and checked. There were no bullets in it. Closing it with a click, he added, "Looks good."

Hoyle glanced over his shoulder. "That tree looks good too. It's got a natural bulls eye on it. Aim for that."

He was talking about a tall pine tree that had suffered some sort of damage. The scarring had created a series of round circles in its rough hide.

"Imagine its your brother Adam," Hoyle suggested with a snort.

Joe glanced at him. "That's not funny."

"Sorry," Hoyle said, seeming genuinely contrite. "I see how sore you get at him for bossing you around."

He did get sore, but that didn't mean he wanted anything to happen to Adam – or to his Pa or Hoss.

Joe lifted the weapon, bringing it up and holding it out as he'd seen his brothers and father do. He sighted along the barrel and pulled the trigger.

And the gun went off!

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"You hear that, Adam?"

Adam nodded his head. He certainly had. A shot. He could also hear the roar of startled steers and Dan Tollivar's voice rising above it. He'd guess they were maybe half a mile away.

"Must be trouble."

"Rustlers, you think?" Hoss asked from where he was seated on Chubb.

"I doubt it, not for that many steers when there's four men watching them. Bad profit-to-risk ratio." Adam put his heels to Scout's flesh. "Come on! Sounds like they can use help!"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe stood stunned, staring at the smoking barrel and wondering how in the world a gun could go off when it didn't have any bullets in it. Around him the world had broken into chaos. He could hear Dan Tollivar shouting his name as Joshua Bates started cussing at the steers, telling them it weren't nothing and they should calm down.

They didn't sound like they were calming down.

His eyes went to Hoyle. "What happened? How...?"

Hoyle shook his curly blond head. "I don't know. Couldn't have been my gun." His head turned toward the ruckus. "Anyhow, sounds like Dan could use out help."

Joe absentmindedly tucked the weapon under his belt and ran to Cochise. Vaulting into the saddle, he turned his horse's nose toward the frantic sounds of shouting and mooing.

"I'm supposed to be in charge! I gotta get out there!"

"I'll be right behind you," his friend said as he headed toward his mount.

Joe nodded once, and was gone.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam removed his hat, wiped sweat and rainwater out of his eyes, and then blew out a long, heartfelt sigh.

It had taken several hours to subdue the frightened cattle and they were all wet, exhausted, and on edge by the time they did. The storm had hit as they set out and the rain had pounded so hard they'd lost two of the steers by the time they were done. The terrified animals had panicked and plunged over a steep ravine into three feet of water and drowned. In the midst of it all he'd spotted Little Joe riding Cochise, moving in and out of the churning cattle in sync with Dan. Thank God Cochise was easy to spot! He'd been impressed by the way his brother handled the animal in the midst of a crisis.

Obviously, Joe was born to work with horses.

As he stood there, thinking, Hoss came to stand beside him. He didn't notice the look on his brother's face until he realized middle brother had remained silent for a full minute or more.

"Trouble?" he asked.

Hoss pursed his lips. His head cocked. Both a sure sign that whatever he had to say he did not _want_ to say.

"I can't rightly say." He glanced over his shoulder. "You need to talk to Dan."

Adam looked but didn't see the older man. "Where is he? And where's Joe? I wanted to tell him how proud I was of the way he handled a tricky situation."

Hoss looked even _more_ uncomfortable.

"What?" When his brother wasn't forthcoming, Adam's temper ratcheted up a notch. "What _aren't_ you telling me?"

"Now, Adam, don't get mad before you hear all the facts –"

His jaw tightened. He had a sinking feeling. "And _why_ exactly would I get mad?"

His sandy-haired teenage brother looked sick.

"Seems like Little Joe and Hoyle just might have _caused_ that there stampede."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe stood beside Hoyle with the captured steers mooing contentedly to his back and a fuming Dan Tollivar stomping a circle in the grass in front of him.

Dan had Hoyle's gun in his hand.

"Of all the irresponsible, reckless, and just plain _clodpated_ things to do! Do you realize what you two might'a caused by being so dag-blamed self-centered?!" Dan asked as he stopped and faced them. "Someone might'a been killed!"

He'd tried to explain. But somehow having a gun tucked in your pants was hard enough to explain, let alone trying to tell someone that, 'yes', you'd fired it, but, no', you hadn't.

Dan's stare went from him to Hoyle and then soundly landed on him. The old drover's voice grew softer. "I'm disappointed in you, boy. And Adam's gonna be mighty disappointed too."

"And just what is it that I am going to be 'mighty' disappointed about?"

Joe could hear the tension in Adam's tone and knew his mind was already made up. Somehow, he had to make him listen. He _had_ to make older brother understand that _all_ of this was not his fault!

As Adam approached with Hoss at his side, Dan swung around. He faced them and handed Adam the gun. "I found this on Joe." The older man paused, as if considering skipping the next bit. Then, his loyalty to Pa won out. "Sorry to say, Adam. Both of them smell of liquor."

Adam went to granite. " _What?"_

"Whiskey." Dan reached to the ground and picked up Hoyle's saddlebags. He removed the half-empty bottle and held it up. "Found it in their camp."

Joe swallowed hard. "Adam. Hoss. I..."

Adam's fierce gaze pinned him. When he remained silent, Adam said, "Say what you have to say."

He glanced at Hoyle, who seemed curiously unconcerned and back to his brother. "I admit to...the drinking. It wasn't much. About a quarter of a cup –"

"You know what the rules are about drinking on a drive."

"I brought the whiskey, Mister Cartwright," Hoyle offered.

"Well, unless you _made_ my brother drink it, that's doesn't really matter, does it?" Adam rounded on him. "Is that it, Little Joe? Did Hoyle _make_ you drink it?"

He straightened his back and lifted his chin. "No."

Adam sighed. He ran a hand over his eyes. "Well, that's honest, at least." His brother held out his hand and took the gun. "And what about this? You know Pa's told you to stay away from revolvers."

Joe glanced at his middle brother for support. Hoss was looking away.

"Pa told me he'd give me one on my fifteenth birthday, Adam. That's only a week or so away. "Why's it so important to wait – "

"Because Pa _told_ you to wait!" Adam's voice rose with his ire. "Joe, a sidearm is not a toy. It's not something to play around with because you feel like it. Look at what happened. You shot it off and we lost two steers. You're lucky someone wasn't _killed!"_

"I know it's not a toy!" he shouted back. "And I didn't shoot it! I don't know where that shot came from."

"You didn't shoot it? Really. Then where _did_ that shot come from?"

He didn't know. He really didn't know.

"Adam, I swear, it wasn't me. You can ask Hoyle. The chamber wasn't even loaded. When I pulled the trigger, it couldn't have –"

"You pulled the trigger? You just said you didn't shoot it."

"I didn't! Well, I shot it, but there wasn't anything in it. It couldn't have made the noise that startled the cattle, Adam. It couldn't have!"

His older brother was staring at him. "Stop lying, Joe. Face up to what you did."

Now it was _his_ jaw that clenched. "I'm not lying, Adam. I'm telling you the truth."

Adam shook his head. "No. No, you're not."

Joe's eyes shot to Dan Tollivar. The older man looked sympathetic, but it was plain as the nose on his face that Dan was on Adam's side. Joshua Bates had ridden in and was still on his horse, looking down at him in the same way.

Tears entered his eyes. "Adam, I _swear._ I wanted to hold Hoyle's gun and the only way he would let me was if I tried the whiskey." Joe realized how lame that sounded even to his own ears. Like he was a little boy trading Aggies. "I drank a little bit and then Hoyle said I should try firing the pistol without bullets. We checked the chamber. It was empty! You can ask Hoyle."

"And what good would that do? He'd just lie too."

Joe bristled. "I told you I ain't lying?"

Adam's lips were pursed. "And I would believe you, because...?"

Tears threatened to fall. "Because I'm your brother and you know I don't _lie_ ," he pleaded, asking for trust. _For just this once_ , Adam, he thought, _trust me._

His older brother's expression had changed. It wasn't as angry. It was disheartened. "No, Joe, no. I am afraid I don't."

His eyes shot to Hoss who was standing by Adam's side. Hoss shook his head and looked away.

Joe felt his heart break in that moment. It broke in such a way that it could never be mended. Looking at his older brothers, standing there so sure in their self-righteousness, he choked. It would be the same with Pa. Adam would see to it. Pa would believe he'd gotten drunk while driving the cattle and he'd fired off a sidearm, causing the stampede. He'd be relegated to the house and peeling potatoes for Hop Sing until he turned twenty-one.

He'd look into his pa's eyes and see that the older man would never trust him again.

When he said nothing, Adam did. The words were breathed with regret. "Get your things and go home, Little Joe." His brother's hazel eyes flicked to Hoyle. "You stay here."

So he was separating them like two little boys who'd done wrong.

"Why?" he demanded.

"Why?" Adam's voice rose in pitch and volume. "Because I say so!"

"And who are you?" Joe shot back, anger and hurt driving out common sense. "You're not Pa! You can't tell me what to do!"

"Little brother," Hoss said, his voice gentle as it was when dealing with an ornery horse, "take a deep breath. Think what you're sayin'."

"I _know_ what I'm saying! Adam doesn't like me! He never has!" The tears were falling now, wetting his face and shaming him. "He's just an uppity snot-nosed blue-blooded Yankee who wishes his Pa had stopped at two – "

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The _crack!_ of his hand on Little Joe's cheek was loud enough to hear all the way back to the Ponderosa.

Adam's jaw was about as tight as it had ever been. He breathed hard, sucking air into his lungs, fighting the urge to turn his fourteen year old brother over his knee.

"Good Lord, Joe!" he nearly shouted. "What is wrong with you?"

Joe's look was defiant. "Ain't nothing wrong with me, you Northern blockhead!"

He couldn't stop himself. Adam stepped forward and caught the lapel of Joe's shirt in his hand. Tightening his grip, he lifted his little brother up so he was balancing on his toes. "You will keep a civil tongue in your head or you _will_ keep quiet."

"Who's gonna make me? You?" Joe snapped back. "You gonna _beat_ me this time?"

Adam eyed the side of his brother's face. Joe's cheek was red and swelling. The sight of it made him relent – a bit. "Joe, I don't want to hurt you. I just want you to listen –"

"Like _you_ listened to me? Why should I?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Adam, step aside. I'll take him."

Adam watched as Joe's green gaze shot to Hoss. He had never _seen_ such a look of pain.

"You too, middle brother"?"

"Now, Joe, I don't know about what happened before them steers stampeded," the big man sighed. "But what you're doin' now is just plain _wrong."_

Adam looked at his hand where it gripped Joe's collar and then at Joe. While his knuckles were white, Joe's face was beet red. Releasing him, he took a step back.

"Sorry, Joe. I didn't mean to – "

"Save it!" Joe snarled. "Cause I don't want to hear it!"

The black-haired man looked at his father's old friend and then up at Joshua Bates. Both had been watching without interfering. Joshua was hiding a smile at what he viewed as a little brother's comeuppance.

Dan just looked sad.

With a glance at Hoss, he said, "Take him home, Hoss. I'll see the cattle get where they need to be."

"You gonna wire Pa and tell him your lies?" his little brother demanded to know.

Adam's jaw clenched. "Hoss, get him out of my sight before I do something I'll regret."

"Oh, you already did that," Joe said as he walked toward Hoss, his tone threatening. "Yes, sir, you _did_ that."

Adam stared at Little Joe's retreating back before turning to Hoyle. "So what was your part in this?" he asked.

Hoyle shrugged. "I brought the bottle."

His concern about Del's brother was rising. "What about the gun?"

"It's mine."

"Did you shoot it off?

He shook his head. "No."

"Did Joe?"

Hoyle snorted. "Yeah. He's good with it too. Hit the target dead center."

"So there _was_ a bullet in the chamber and that was the shot that set off the stampede?"

Hoyle's face registered no emotion, as if he didn't realize his words were sealing his 'friend's' fate.

"Far as I know."

Adam didn't know what to do, so he nodded. "You get your things together and go back to the bunkhouse. You tell your brother what you did or I will. Do you understand me?"

Hoyle smiled. "I'll tell him. Its not like _I_ did anything wrong."

As Del's brother moved to do what he said, Dan Tollivar came to his side. He nodded in Hoyle's direction. "That one's trouble."

He didn't know how they'd missed it unless it was simply due to the fact that Del had saved Joe's life.

"You're right. I guess its a good thing he and Del will be moving on in a few days."

Dan was silent a moment. "You were awful hard on the boy." He smiled. "I seem to remember when you were his age you made a poor choice or two."

Adam snorted. "Or maybe three." He ran a hand along the back of his neck. "I don't know what it is with Joe. He just... Well, it doesn't take much of _anything_ for him to get under my skin."

"He's a lot like your Pa."

He shot the other man an astonished look. "Pa?"

Dan laughed. "You didn't know Ben when he was young. I did. Trust me. That quick temper and damned cock-suredness don't come out of nowhere." The older man's hand came down on his shoulder. "You just got to aim it right, son. Joe'll be okay. He just needs to grow up."

Joe _was_ a boy. He forgot that sometimes. And it was true, he'd done a few things when he was that age that he'd prefer not to remember. Pa had always been stern, but understanding.

And he'd never called him a liar.

"I owe Joe an apology, don't I?" he asked with chagrin.

"Wouldn't hurt." Dan lifted his hand. "Sooner said, best mended."

"Right. We'll get the cattle to the main herd and I'll ride back in the morning and talk to him. Thanks, Dan."

"Joe's a good kid. You remember that."

He snorted. "If I don't, I've got you to remind me."

With that, Adam moved toward his horse and prepared to drive the herd.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Watching from the underbrush, the man who had been casing the Cartwright household, smirked. Things were going according to plan. When he'd spoken to Del everything had fallen into place. Plan A had been scrapped for plan B, and that was going to make things so much easier. This way the boy would cooperate. He was ripe to turn on his family and would be of considerable use to them in Genoa. The Cartwright name carried a lot of weight and, from the look of young Joseph Cartwright, he was a boy who wanted to be a man and would be more than willing to throw that weight around.

Shifting his position, the man's narrowed eyes followed Joe's older brother as he rode off toward the herd. It was such a beautiful touch, waiting until the boy aimed that empty pistol and then firing his own to scatter the cattle. Coupled with Hoyle's idea of bringing the whiskey, young Joe's standing with his family had been so undermined he was almost duty bound to take up the brothers' offer to run away with them. And when he did...

When he did, he would make him – and Del and Hoyle – rich men.

After that, of course, there'd be no use for him. Joe Cartwright would have seen people and things he could never forget. Then – _then_ – the kid would get his comeuppance. No one thwarted Weston McCloud and lived to tell about it.

At least not with their brains or body intact.


	9. Chapter 8

EIGHT

Joe drew a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh as he turned back to look at the ranch house. It was well after midnight and everyone there was fast asleep. Hoss was snoring loud as a buzz saw. Pa had put down his book and turned off his lamp and gone to his room. Pa didn't snore. His breathing was deep, even.

Strong, just like him.

The ride back to the house with Hoss from the disastrous cattle drive had been made in silence. Upon their arrival he'd sprung from his horse, tethered it, and then run into the house and vaulted up the stairs. Once in his room he slammed the door shut and threw himself on the bed. Pulling a pillow over his head, he'd muffled the sobs and cried until he was all cried out. By the time Hoss knocked on his door on his way to bed, asking him if he was all right, the pain and horror of what had happened had been transformed into deep, dark, determined rage. He'd been sitting there, contemplating what to do about it when a knock came on his window. Startled, he'd turned toward it to find Hoyle crouching on the roof outside. They'd come and gone a few times that way, so it didn't surprise him that Hoyle had chosen to use that route.

What _did_ surprise him was the words that came out of his friend's mouth as he slipped inside.

"Del and I are leaving tonight."

"What? _Tonight?"_

"We got enough money and Del's none too happy with the way things went down with Adam. He says he's ready. I am too." Hoyle had paused. "How about you? You coming with us?"

A chill – no, more of a _thrill_ had snaked down his spine. "You headed for New Orleans?"

Hoyle nodded. "End of the day tomorrow. Del's got some business to take care of in Genoa first."

Joe remembered the mention of Genoa had made the color drain from his face. "My pa's somewhere in the area."

The southerner shrugged. "We won't run into him. Remember, your pa's in Eagle Station right now, not Genoa."

The thought of his father took Joe – for an instant – to another place and time, to a childhood where that single word 'pa' had held everything he needed in the world. Joe swallowed hard as he continued to stare at the only home he had ever known. In about two hours Hop Sing would rise. The Chinese man would make his morning tea and then start the new day's tasks. Two or three hours later his Pa and his brother Hoss would come downstairs. Maybe Adam would be back by that time too. They'd sit at the table and look at his empty chair and yell at him to get his sorry butt down to breakfast. Little did they know that 'sorry butt' was planted on a fence rail at the edge of the yard, or that he and it were ready to head for New Orleans.

Joe's grinned. That'd teach them to call him a boy!

The curly-headed youth shifted anxiously. He was going off on a _great_ adventure with Hoyle and Del. They were gonna ride to the train station and board the train and head for his mama's home. _New Orleans_ , he thought with a shake of his head. With his eyes closed he could almost smell the spray coming off the Mississippi River and hear the calls of the men loading and unloading the ship as they came into port. He'd never been far away from the Ponderosa. There was a world out there he knew nothing of. He'd thought he would see it one day with his pa and brothers but...

"You're awful quiet, Joe. Are you having second thoughts?" Hoyle asked as he came alongside him.

Joe opened his eyes. The look he gave his friend was resolute. "No."

"Damn straight!" Hoyle laughed. "You'll never get anywhere as long as Adam is in charge. Its him who runs the ranch now, not your pa.. That arrogant bastard is _never_ going to see you as a man. You're going to have to _prove_ it to him. Taking off with us will go a long ways toward doing that." The southerner met his eyes and held his gaze. "Adam'll see the changes in you when you come back."

"Hoyle's right, Joe," Del said as he joined them leading three horses. Hoyle's older brother had been saddling them while they talked. Joe wasn't going to take Cochise. Cooch was his horse, but he didn't really belong to him.

Nothing _really_ belonged to him.

"From what Hoyle told me, you've already burned your bridges, Joe."

Del was wrong. _He_ hadn't burned any bridges – Adamhad _._ That's why he was going away. He wasn't leaving his home, he was being _driven_ away by his oldest brother's unreal expectations, by Adam's arrogance; by his _need_ to be in control.

Joe's jaw tightened.

But most of all, by the fact that Adam had called him a _liar._

Joe snorted and then wiped a hand across his lips as he left the rail and headed for the horse Del had brought him. The world lay before him. He was going to be on his own – he was going to be a _man_.

Pa would be proud of him.

Yeah. He would.

Whenever he came home.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hoss blinked awake and lifted his head off the pillow. He thought he'd heard movement downstairs. Casting an eye to the window, he saw the dawn was breaking. Thinking maybe it was Joe and little brother had finally got over pissin' and moanin' and gone downstairs for something to eat, the big man sat up on the edge of his bed, stretched, and then rose and pulled on his robe. It was chillier than he remembered it being when he went to bed. The season was turning. October was almost over.

The snow would be flying soon.

Crossing to his door Hoss opened it and stepped into the hall. Sure enough there was a noise downstairs. Someone was moving around the great room. As he scratched his head, Hoss moved to the top of the landing and looked down. What he found surprised him.

It wasn't Joe. It was Adam.

"What're you doin' here?" he asked as he descended. "I thought you were goin' straight on to Eagle Station."

His brother looked up at him. Adam was covered with trail dust; his eyes ringed with fatigue and colored by a bit of chagrin. "I figured I owed Joe an apology."

"You was a little hard on him," Hoss said as his bare feet hit the floor.

Adam went to the hearth and sat down, mindful of getting his dust on the upholstery. "I know. It's just..." His brother sighed. "I don't know what it is about Joe. I know he's a good kid. I just get so frustrated –"

"Just like you did with mama," the big man finished for him.

Adam started. His eyes shot to his face. "What do you mean?"

"Heck, Adam, I was only a little tyke, but I can remember how hoppin' mad mama made you. You two was likes bucks in rutting season clashin' antlers."

His brother snorted. Then he smiled. "Yeah..."

"You know, Adam, you're always thinkin', calculatin' even. Mama was about the moment. Joe is too."

Adam sighed. "He _is_ that."

"But you know, Adam, not everybody thinks that's wrong. I know it's not your way, but even the Good Book says to let tomorrow take care of itself. To live in the moment, you know?"

"I hadn't really thought about it, but Marie did challenge me the same way Joe does. Only I think she did it on purpose." His brother laughed. "Joe does it without _knowing_ he's doing it."

"He's a kid, Adam."

Older brother sucked in air and let it out slowly. "That's the problem, Joe _is_ a kid. When I considered what _could_ have happened when those steers stampeded..." He looked at him. "Joe or someone else could have been killed, and all because he was being stupid."

"How do you know he wasn't tellin' the truth? I mean, he did admit to the drinkin'."

"Fool kid! _Whiskey_ , for God's sake!"

Hoss paused. "I think you and me was about that age when we took our first sip."

Adam looked abashed. "We were stupid."

" _We_ was kids."

"That doesn't change the fact that Joe's reckless behavior caused a stampede and resulted in the loss of livestock."

Hoss ran a hand along the back of his neck. "I been thinkin' about that. Joe seemed awful upset when you accused him of lyin' about the gun going off."

"Hoyle said – "

The big man met his brother's angry gaze. "And why is it, Adam, that you'd believe a _stranger_ over your own brother?"

There, he'd said it.

Adam scowled. "Because Joe's been known to stretch the truth before."

"Stretchin' the truth' and lyin' are two different things. You called Joe a liar and Joe ain't no liar."

"It doesn't make any sense," Adam admitted as he rose and began to pace. "How can you fire a gun but _not_ fire it, and yet have it go off and cause a stampede?"

"Look at it this way, brother. You're accusin' Joe of bein' awful smart and wily. Shouldn't he be smart enough to make up a better lie than that?"

Adam stopped and stared at him. His eyes shot to the stairs. "Good God."

"Yeah, God _is_ good, Adam," Hoss said with a half-smile. "Seems He decided to knock some sense into that think head of your'n before it was too late."

His brother looked slightly ill. "You know, I was going to talk to Joe about Hoyle before this happened. I was worried he was pulling Joe in the wrong direction."

"That mean you're thinkin'...?"

"Hoyle told me that Joe fired the gun and hit the target on the tree. I believed him." He shook his head. "I'm thinking now I shouldn't have."

He'd noticed Joe was different around Del's brother. It was like to two of them was always sharing a secret.

"He's awful quiet, that boy. You never know what he's thinkin'."

Adam was on the move again, pacing in front of the fire. "When you think about it, we accepted Del and Hoyle into our home and lives without question because Del saved Joe from the those bank robbers. We really know nothing about them."

"'Cept they're from the south."

"Which would have tied them to Marie and, thereby, ingratiated them to Joe."

"Yeah."

Adam went to the bottom of the steps. "Joe still in his room?"

"So far as I know," Hoss replied. "Little brother ran right up and slammed that door tight last night. I heard him crying. Figured he cried himself to sleep."

His brother gripped the stair rail. "I feel like an ass."

"That's okay," he replied with a small twist of his lips. "You've been behavin' like one."

"Thank you," Adam said flatly. "That _so_ helps to alleviate any feelings of remorse I might be entertaining."

"Why don't you just go up and entertain little brother with an apology instead?" he asked.

"I will." The big man watched as his older brother slowly climbed the steps. Near the top Adam stopped and looked back at him. "Have I remembered lately to tell you how wise you are?"

The big man's cheeks went red. "Shucks. Ain't nothin'."

"No wonder Pa keeps you around."

Adam rounded the corner before the settee pillow he tossed could reach his head.

Hoss turned then and headed for the kitchen. Hop Sing wasn't up yet, but he was sure he could scrounge up something. He was powerful hungry since he hadn't had much of an appetite the night before. A quick circuit of their Chinese cook's domain gave up some slices of cold beef and a half-dozen hard boiled eggs. With several of each in hand, Hoss headed back into the great room just as Adam came flying down the stairs.

"Was Joe in the kitchen?" he asked, breathless.

His mouth was full, so he shook his head. Chewing quickly, the big man swallowed and asked, "Ain't he in his room?"

"No." Adam looked worried. "His window was open and some of his things are gone."

So _that's_ why it felt so cold upstairs!

"You think he had enough of a mad on he done run away?"

His brother nodded. "I'm going to wake Hoyle and ask him if he knows anything. You check the house again, just in case Joe's hiding somewhere and I missed him."

They parted then, with Adam going outside and him heading up the stairs. Ten minutes later they met again just inside the door.

"Little Joe ain't here," Hoss said. "You don't suppose..." He stopped short. Older brother looked...well...terrified. "What's wrong, Adam?"

"Hoyle's gone. So is Del. And I found three sets of horse prints leading out of the yard."

"Three?" It must of been too early in the morning. It took a second. "You ain't thinkin'... You mean, you're thinkin' Joe took off with that pair. For _New Orleans?"_

"By the look of it they left around midnight. They could have made it to the train station by now." Adam's hand was shaking as he ran it across his chin. "Good Lord! What am I going to tell Pa?"

"Hang onto your hat, Adam. No need to go tellin' Pa anythin' yet. It can't be that hard to track the three of them. I mean, since they had such a lead I doubt they're doin' much to cover their trail."

Hope entered his brother's eyes. "You might be right. Del said he and Hoyle were going to take the train south. I checked and the money Joe keeps in his dresser is gone. That's enough to buy a ticket." Adam sucked in air, seeming to steady himself. "I imagine they would go south of Virginia City to board, maybe Gold Hill or Eureka."

Hoss shook his head. "I cain't believe that little cuss was so mad he'd go off and do somethin' so _gol-_ darned stupid!"

"I can't believe he'd do this to Pa," Adam said flatly.

"You know Little Joe. He ain't thinkin' about anythin' more than the mad he's got on. When he calms down, he'll come back home."

"I agree. But the more I think about it, the less I like the idea of him alone with Del and Hoyle. Joe's not completely innocent, but he has no idea how wicked the world is – especially a city like New Orleans."

Big brother'd been in those big cities. He knew a thing or two about them. And the look he had on his face right now about said it all for the type of trouble Joe might get into.

"I'll pack some food if you go saddle the horses," Adam said.

He nodded. "I'll saddle up three – just in case."

"Sounds good. Once I have the food, I'll find the foreman and give him orders for the men. When I get back, we'll ride."

Hoss watched as his older brother disappeared around the corner into the kitchen wing of the house. A second later he opened the front door and stepped out. The day was dawning. The sun was up and it painted the land in shades of pink and gold. After allowing himself a moment to enjoy it, the big man headed toward the barn. When he was almost there he turned and went instead to the edge of the yard where Adam said he had found the trio of horse prints. Kneeling, he ran his hand over them, as if somehow that could connect him to his missing brother. Joe was an ornery little cuss. Once he had his hackles up, it took an awful lot to bring them back down.

Hoss rose and dusted the knees of his trousers off. Shifting his hat back on his thinning hair, he looked up at the sky and spoke to the big man upstairs.

"Make it gentle this time, ya hear?"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

By the time they camped for the night, Joe was a little less angry but just as determined to see the choice he had made through in spite of doubts creeping in. The truth was, there was something bothering him, and that was his pa. He didn't want to hurt him and he knew by doing what he was doing, that he was. It was funny. Pa wasn't _anything_ like Adam. Pa always listened to him and trusted him and usually supported him when one of his brothers accused him of something. But pa...well, in a way...when it came to letting him grow up...

Pa was worse.

He and Hoss had talked about it and he thought he understood why. His pa had loved his mama something fierce. When she died, well, he was all Pa had left of her. Hoss said when Pa looked at him, he saw his mama looking back. Joe shook his head and sighed. His pa hadn't been able to keep his mama from dying when that horse fell on her and so he was scared, middle brother said, that something would happen to _him_ too. Because of it, Pa treated him like he was made out of glass or, maybe, was like one of those blown-out egg shells you colored for Easter that you could crush by blowing on it. He didn't want to hurt his father, but it seemed, well, running away and being on his own for a while might be the only thing that would prove to his pa that he _wasn't_ gonna break.

Or die.

Joe looked at Hoyle who sat across the fire from him, talking to his brother. Hoyle was only two years older than him. He said he'd been on his own since he was two years younger, with just his brother at his side. Del wasn't like Adam. He'd taught Hoyle how to be a man so they could go everywhere and do everything together. He'd helped him – _wanted_ him to grow up.

All Adam wanted to do was make sure he stayed a snot-nosed kid.

As he thought again of the events of the day before, Joe's anger began to resurface. How _dare_ older brother call him a liar and accuse him of causing that stampede! And Hoss. Hoss hadn't backed him up. He hadn't said it, but he could tell middle brother believed everything lie that was being told about him. And old Dan. He believed it too. _Everybody_ believed he'd been reckless and foolish and stupid because that's what they already believed he was – reckless, and foolish and stupid.

Well, he'd show them! He'd take that train to New Orleans and get a job and live on his own for a while and then he'd write them and tell them what he was doing. And then – _maybe_ then – he'd come back home.

Or maybe he'd just stay in his mama's home town.

Maybe.

Joe's lips opened and he mouthed the word.

"Pa..."

"You okay, Joe?" Del asked. "You're awful quiet."

When Joe looked up, he found Hoyle's brother looking down at him. "I'm fine," he replied. "Just considerin' the future."

Del glanced at Hoyle and then sat down. "We were just talking about that."

"About what?"

"Your future." The blond man glanced at his brother. "The business deal I'm working on in Genoa has a lot of potential. It should bring in enough cash to set all of us up in New Orleans. I... We thought maybe you'd like to become a partner."

"What kind of business deal is it?" he asked, curious.

"There's a man – he's the backer – and he's looking to work with the manager of the new bank in town. The one on the east side of Genoa. Hoyle and I thought, well, the name Cartwright carries a lot of weight. If the manager thought your father was interested..."

Joe frowned. "That'd be a lie."

"No, it wouldn't, Joe," Hoyle said from across the fire. "You're Ben Cartwright's son. You speak for him, just like your brothers do. Just like I do for Del. Right, brother?"

Del nodded. "It'd be your way of earning your passage all the way to your mama's hometown. It's a long way to New Orleans. How much did you bring with you?"

Not enough. Pa wouldn't let him keep much cash on hand.

"Enough for the ticket."

"Right. There's meals and hotel rooms and supplies and..." Del's look was sober. "A _man_ pays his own way."

Joe fought to keep his breathing even. He hadn't really thought about it. Del and Hoyle couldn't fund the trip or his life – nor would he want them to.

"What would I have to do?"

Again, the brothers exchanged a look. "Well, if the manager thought Ben Cartwright was going to invest in his bank, he'd certainly accept our backer's deal. Your father has money in the Genoa bank already, doesn't he?"

"Yes. Sometimes he keeps money there," Joe said, growing less certain by the moment.

"Hey!" Del said, stretching out his arm and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Don't look so worried. You don't have to do it if you're scared – "

"I'm not scared!" Joe snapped, even though he was. "I just don't understand."

"You will tomorrow, Joe," Hoyle said as he drew a blanket up about his shoulders and rolled over. "We're meeting with the backer then."

Del was looking right at him. "Now, you don't think we'd ask you to do anything wrong, do you, Joe? We're _friends_ , aren't we?"

He thought so.

No. He _knew_ so.

Joe placed his hand over Del's. "Sure. We're friends. I trust you."

"Great!" The blond man rose. "Now you get some sleep. We can only chance a few hours. Those brothers of yours are going to be on our tail first thing." He grinned. "If they catch up to us, they'll drag you back by the ear like you're some little kid."

With that last word, Del walked away.

Joe sat for a moment considering all his friends had said. What was wrong with him helping them out? If just his name could secure their deal, well, he owed them that at least. Didn't he? After all, they were taking him to his mama's hometown and helping him prove he wasn't that little kid.

Clutching the edge of his blanket in his hand, Joe rolled over on his side. A couple of hours, Del said.

Joe didn't sleep a wink of it.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

DeLoyd Wakefield Beaumont waited until Joe Cartwright's back was turned and then he silently rose to his feet and made his way into the woods. As he walked he considered the fortuitous turn of events that had put the youngest of the wealthy Benjamin Cartwright's sons in their hands. Weston's plan was good, but this piece of good luck made it better. That Northern dimwit, Wade Harvey, had no idea when he was put in charge of the bank robbery in Genoa that he was a sacrificial lamb. Wade thought he was the big man and that, along with his bloodthirsty partner, Pythias Morgan, there was no way they could miss. Of course, he might have been right – _would_ have been right – if Weston hadn't slipped a note under the door tipped off the sheriff.

Hiram Whitaker was on his way before a single shout went up.

The plan was simple. Weston hired Harvey and his gang to rob the old bank. At the same time he hired him, plus a few other savvy Southern men, to take up residence in Genoa a few days so they could join the posse when it was raised. That way they would appear above reproach when the _real_ robbery went down. The idea was that no one would expect a town's banks to be hit two time in less than two months. Weston sent Harvey to the west side bank. There was some money there, but the _big_ money was in the new bank with its new vault with its six tumbler lock vault. Weston had befriended the bank manager, dropping names and tossing around enough cash to make it look like he was pretty well-off. That was how he'd gotten to see the new vault. The old one was still there in the basement. It was a four tumbler and stood empty now. After the last bank robbery attempt, the bank board had decided to buy the new top-of-the-line vault and to telegraph that fact to every town within a hundred mile radius of Genoa in order to attract the timber, mine and cattle barons.

Weston had seen Ben Cartwright there one day, checking out the new vault.

At that time Cartwright had just been a name he'd heard on the lips of his father's boss; a man Stanfield Hawks detested without reason. All that changed the night the robbery went down and he'd set out from Genoa with the self-righteously angry men of the town. They were hell-bent to hunt down the men who had so callously and uncaringly stolen their hard-earned cash. He'd realized right off that it was Ben Cartwright's boy Pythias and Harvey were holding. It had been a golden opportunity to get in good with the owners of the biggest spread in Nevada.

Of course, DeLoyd thought as he shifted his aching shoulder, he hadn't meant to get shot.

The wound had worked to his advantage though, earning him and Hoyle a free ticket into the Cartwright's hearts and lives. Him saving the Cartwright's 'baby boy' had made Ben and his other sons so grateful they hadn't asked any questions. It was probably a good thing, he thought with a scoff.

If they'd asked too many he might have had to kill them.

The blond man halted when he heard a noise. He tensed and his hand went to his sidearm.

"Relax, Beaumont. It's me."

As a shadowy form separated itself from the other shadows of the forest, DeLoyd relaxed. He recognized the man's middle height, middle weight, middle-aged form.

"Hello, Weston."

Weston was about as average as average came. He was around five feet nine and had thinning brown hair muddied by gray. The businessman wore suits but they were store-bought, not anything he'd ordered, and so they fit like a feed sack. Weston's eyes were gray too – a bone-chilling gray like icy mist hanging over a mountain. His lips were thin and cruel. He sported a mustache above them that should have been shaved off day's before. The only distinguishing feature the average man had was a small scar over his right eyebrow. Weston said he got it in a duel. He didn't believe it.

If there was one thing Weston McCloud was _not_ , it was a gentleman.

The city slicker stepped forward to shake his hand. "I received your wire. The boy is with you?"

"Of course," he snorted. "If I can't fool a fourteen year old boy, then I better hang up my hat."

"What does he know?"

"That we're headed for New Orleans and that he needs money."

"You think he'll go through with it?" Weston looked worried. "What's to stop him from turning around and going home?"

"Pride." DeLoyd grinned. "You haven't met this kid. He'd ride his horse into Hell to prove it didn't exist."

"Excellent. So you think he will do as you ask?"

There'd been a moment. He'd seen Joe hesitate. "I think he will. There's no guarantee."

"No matter," the businessman said. "There's always plan C."

DeLoyd nodded reluctantly. He didn't _like_ plan C.

Weston scoffed. "Don't tell me you've grown attached to the boy."

He shrugged. "Joe's a good kid. He's fourteen and he's trying to prove himself. Reminds me of Hoyle a few years back."

"Oh, yes, your brother. Where is the little outlaw?"

Del wanted to bristle at the insult but he couldn't. It was true. With that baby face of his that made him look years younger, his eighteen-year old brother was one of the most successful bank robbers in the south. Of course, Hoyle was also one of the biggest spenders, so they were always looking to rob another one. Weston had been in their town looking to hire them. They'd checked his organization out and decided they could be of use to one another.

"Hoyle's back at the camp with Joe."

"Do you think young Cartwright will do as you ask?"

DeLoyd hesitated. "It's a gamble. I still think it's better just to hold him in reserve."

"Not with that new vault, it isn't. You've never broken into a Charles and John Chubb six tumbler safe before."

He didn't like Weston's tone. It was insulting.

"I can just walk away if you think I'm not up to it. After all, _I_ have Joe Cartwright. That's money in itself. His father would pay anything to get him back."

Weston paled. "No, no. I meant no disrespect. " The middling man paused and then added, "You really think you can break it?"

DeLoyd shrugged. "If not, there's always gunpowder and a match."

"That's too noisy!"

The blond man sighed. "You're forgetting our insurance. Once the authorities know we have Joe Cartwright, they'll give us a parade to march us out of town."

"Ah, yes..."

"So you see, _either_ way we win. If Joe does as we want, well, we have a new partner. With him and Hoyle, we could take anyone." DeLoyd hesitated. "If not, then owning him is our ticket to freedom."

Weston snorted. "I like the way you think, DeLoyd."

"It hasn't led me astray yet," the southerner replied. Tipping his hat, he added, "Well, I better get back to the camp. I don't think Joe was asleep. He's liable to start worrying if I'm gone long. He probably thinks I came out here to relieve myself."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Weston McCloud watched the man he'd hired to break the new bank in Genoa walk away. DeLoyd Beaumont was cock-sure of himself and that rubbed him the wrong way. Still, the southerner and his brother had come highly recommended. With their background they were comfortable among the elite as well as the common folk, and they were known for pulling heists that were legendary in size and scope as well as take. Their father was overseer of the slaves at one of the largest plantations in Louisiana. DeLoyd had been groomed to take over his job but, in the end, his temperament prevented it. An overseer needed _some_ restraint and that was something DeLoyd lacked. There were rumors that he'd killed a man with his bare hands just for intimating that he'd been involved with one of the slave women. That was why he and Hoyle had come north – to escape scrutiny in the South and to give their father time to ask his patron to smooth things over. They expected to return within the year.

Their father's superior was a powerful man indeed with holdings not only in the South but in the West. He was one of the men who'd seen to it the Compromise of 1850 happened and campaigned hard for the South's rights in each new state. He wanted slaves in the West because he had holdings in the West and was seeking to increase his power there. In fact, he'd just recently expanded into Nevada and bought land close to the Cartwright spread. Yes, Stanfield Hawks was a man of strong beliefs, chief among them that the ends justified the means.

A belief with which he completely concurred.

Weston turned again in the direction DeLoyd had gone. Just beyond the trees was the southerner's campsite and, at it, Joe Cartwright. When he thought about that skinny raw-boned kid, his fingers itched. Cartwright had insulted him and _no one_ who did that went unpunished. He'd kept him from a much anticipated liaison with the beautiful and virginal Maisie O'Malley and had in fact driven the girl back to a life of chastity under her mother and father's watchful eye. For the moment he intended to follow plan B, which was the one in which they would use Joe Cartwright to gain access to the bank's vault and all it held under the guise of him doing business for his father. Secretly, he was hoping the boy refused to cooperate. If it came to plan C, he knew _exactly_ what he was going to do. Ben Cartwright's youngest son would be used as a hostage – and human shield.

And everyone knew what happened to human shields.

A sneer lifted the average man's upper lip, pushing his minor mustache up so it tickled his more than average nose.

With a sneeze, Weston McCloud dismissed Joe Cartwright's life.


	10. Chapter 9

NINE

Hoss Cartwright ran a hand through his sandy hair and placed his hat on his head. It was the start of a new day and from what he could tell they'd done been hornswoggled by that little brother of theirs. He and Adam had spent the time since they'd discovered Little Joe was missing traveling south, moving from one train station to the next. They'd made it to Eureka as the sun set and had rented a room for the night. Now that it was morning, they had to decide whether to go further south or turn back and go home and start all over again.

The big man narrowed his crisp blue eyes and looked at his brother. "I got a gut feelin' Joe ain't on the train."

Adam puffed out a little air and nodded. "I'm beginning to believe that too. Still, if they didn't head south, then where would they have gone? Del made it fairly clear it was his intention to return to Louisiana as soon as he had the funds."

Hoss didn't like the sound of it, but he said it anyway. "Maybe havin' Joe along changed his and Hoyle's plans for some reason."

Adam didn't look happy about it either. "Maybe."

He was getting worried. He knew Little Joe was old enough to look out for himself, counting on things being normal. The problem was the more time went by the less he got to thinking _anything_ about Joe disappearing was 'normal'.

"I just can't help it, Adam. I sure got a bad feelin' about this. I mean, Joe was awful mad, but you know that boy, once he cools down he thinks better of bein' stupid."

Adam chewed his cheek a moment. "I'm afraid its because of me," he admitted. "I should have believed Joe over Hoyle. Like you said, Joe's my brother. Why believe a stranger?"

"Cause you're too danged logical for your own good," Hoss said as he began to check the straps on his saddle. "When somethin' don't make sense, it drives you plumb loco."

"Yeah." Adam scowled as he remounted. "I've been thinking about that too. If Hoyle deliberately lied there has to have been a reason, and the only reason I can think of is he knew it would make me mad enough to confront Joe, thereby giving Joe a reason for running."

Hoss' brows peaked toward the downy tumble of hair on his forehead. "You think Hoyle was _tryin'_ to get Joe to run away? Whatever for?"

"Nothing good, I'm afraid." His older looked at the road ahead. "I think we need to split up."

"You goin' on to the next station?"

Adam snorted. "Don't I wish? No, I think I better let Pa know what's going on."

Hoss swallowed. "I _sure_ wouldn't want to be in your shoes when Pa finds out Little Joe's missin'."

"I don't want to be in my shoes either, but its not fair to Pa to keep him in the dark. He _needs_ to know about Joe, especially if there _is_ more to this than one angry boy running away from home."

"You want me to go back to the house and check out them tracks again?"

From what they'd seen as they traveled along the first few hours, Del had done a pretty good job of covering the signs of their passage. At least, he assumed it was Del. They'd followed the three horse's prints about five miles until they veered off into the rocks and headed for the high country. Both of them had agreed it was a feint and they'd followed the train line instead..

" Yes. See what's left and then follow what you find as best you can. Maybe you can tell if they really went into the high country." Adam ran a hand along the back of his neck. "I'm thinking that it was just to throw us off. "

"I'll see what I can find. " The big man said as he too mounted his horse . "If I don't find nothin', you want me to head over Genoa way?"

"Pa's not due there for a couple of days," Adam replied. "I'm supposed to join him in Eagle Station. He 's meeting with a group of men there who have some information on Hawks' operations, both here and back East. " He thought a moment. "Why don't you plan on meeting us there the day after tomorrow."

Hoss nodded. "Hopefully I'll have little brother with me."

"Hopefully." Adam pulled on the reins and set Scout to moving. "I better get on my way."

"Tell Pa 'hello' for me when you see him."

His brother haled his horse and looked back. "I will. When I can get a word in, that is. After I tell Pa Joe took off, I have a feeling that might not be until the time you arrive."

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Joe was sitting on a lumpy bed, in a seedy hotel room, wondering what the heck he thought he was doing. He'd been so sure, _so_ certain this was what he wanted – to get out from under brother Adam's thumb and to prove he could stand on his own two feet without him or Hoss or even his Pa watching over him every minute waiting for him to make a mistake, or get hurt, or...something.

Now, he wasn't so sure.

They'd arrived at the dingy hotel and gone straight up to the room Del rented. As soon as they tossed their hats and satchels on the bed, Del and Hoyle headed out. He'd asked to go with them, but Del said he couldn't, that it had to do with the business deal he was negotiating and, at the moment, he wasn't a partner. He'd been uncomfortable with being left behind even _before_ the blond man had stopped at the door with his hand on the knob and, looking back, told him he was going to lock him in. When he'd asked _why_ , Del had said it was for his safety. When _that_ prompted him to ask just what this deal was about, Hoyle's older brother snorted and answered, "Money. What else?"

Then he locked the door.

Rising, Joe crossed to the window. He'd been _so_ sure he could trust Del and Hoyle. He just _knew_ the brothers were his friends. He and Hoyle had talked for hours about how much he wanted to see New Orleans because of his mama coming from there. Hoyle'd told him all about it, drawing pictures with his words of the ports and wharfs and the paddle wheelers coming in, of tall trees dripping with moss, of the narrow winding streets with their cast iron lace fences and tall locked gates covered with vines. All he things he'd seen and Joe so desperately _wanted_ to see. Hoyle had woven a spell that had convinced him that in order to see them, he had to do it _now._

He was only fourteen.

What was the hurry?

Joe leaned his hand on the glass and looked out at the sleazy back alley the hotel opened onto. Genoa was a growing city. Like all western towns, it had its good side and its bad side. They were in the older part of town now, which usually meant trouble. As he stood there looking out, he saw a man come up to a tough-looking woman and try to take her by the arm. She swung around and struck him with her palm, knocking him off his feet, and then walked off in a huff. A few seconds later two other men began trailing her.

Up to no good, no doubt.

Maybe Del _was_ trying to protect him. He and Hoyle were certainly more experienced than he was. They probably couldn't do their business if they felt they had to watch out for him. Joe frowned as he pivoted and looked at the locked door.

Still, couldn't they have _trusted_ him?

No, more and more he was beginning to think that he'd got it all wrong. Since he'd been locked in, he'd gone back through all the things Hoyle had said since that morning when Adam had blown up at him and accused him of lying. Any way you looked at it, Hoyle was doing his best to paint Adam in a bad light and to make sure he stayed mad at him. Hoyle'd bad-mouthed older brother from the minute he came in his window and told him he and Del were taking off and wanted him to come with him. What he couldn't figure out was why? Del had made some mention of him helping them at the bank since his pa kept money there. Right now he had a good amount in the vault since the cattle drive was coming up and he was dealing with that Hawks fellow. If things went bad with Hawks, Pa was gonna have to pay through the nose to buy back the land Stanfield Hawks said was his. It was important land. They needed it for their cattle. Still, he couldn't figure there was anything _he_ could do at the bank to help with any kind of deal. Much as he hated to admit it, he _was_ just a kid. If he'd been a little older Pa might have sent him along with a letter or something for the manager. Hoss had started doing that at about fifteen. Pa even had him carry a draft from one bank to the other one time so he could have money transferred.

Hoss had sure felt important and all grown up that day.

Pressing off the window, Joe returned to the bed and sat down and considered his options. He could stay with Hoyle and Del and hope that whenever they were done doing whatever it was they _were_ doing, they'd still take him to New Orleans with them. Or, he could just tell them when they got back that he wanted to go home. Of course, Hoyle would make him feel like he was a little boy running home with his tail between his legs and not a man making a decision to do what he thought was best. Joe snorted and a tiny smile lifted his lips. His pa would be proud of him for making a decision like that.

 _He'd_ tell him he was a man.

Joe leaned back on the pillows with a sigh. When he first thought of running away all he could see was what lay _ahead_ of him – a real big city with thousands of people and lots of excitement, plus it was the place his mama had loved and lived in. Sitting here, alone, thinking about it again in the light of the way Hoyle and Del were acting, he thought about how the Ponderosa was the place _he_ loved and lived in, and how his mama had left New Orleans and chosen to live there instead. She'd left that old city of thousands and all its corruption behind, Pa said, for the rushing streams, the open air, and the honest scent of pine trees.

He missed his pa.

Heck, he even missed Adam.

A noise in the corridor caught his attention. Joe looked at the space between the door and the floor and saw shadows moving through the light in the hall. He heard the key turn in the lock and then Del and Hoyle stepped in – followed by another man. He was shorter than Del and kind of dumpy looking in his ill-fitting suit. He didn't know him. And he didn't think he _wanted_ to know him. He looked, well...

Shifty.

"Joe, this is Weston McCloud. He's my...business associate," Del said.

McCloud was staring at him like he already didn't like him, which was odd since they'd never met.

"Mister McCloud," he said, sticking out a hand like his pa taught him.

The dumpy man didn't take it. Instead he said, "I understand you are in with us."

Joe frowned. He shot a look at Del and then Hoyle. They were both watching him closely. Hoyle looked...

Scared.

"That depends on what 'this' is," he replied, itching his voice to sound just a little bit like his pa's when he was being cautious.

"I see my associates have not yet explained your role in our proposed endeavor. That was very lax of you, DeLoyd."

Del...or DeLoyd shrugged.

Weston McCloud came to stand before him. He wasn't a big man, but he was bigger than Joe and he loomed over him.

"I understand you want to be considered a man, Mister Cartwright," he said.

"So" What's that to you?" Joe shot back – and then felt stupid for having said it.

"A _man_ looks at an opportunity, weighs its advantages and disadvantages, and then comes to a conclusion he can live with."

"Don't you mean one he can be _proud_ of?" he countered.

McCloud's cloudy gray eyes were fastened on him. "Perhaps."

When the man said nothing more, Joe prompted, "So you gonna to tell me what this is all about? Any of you?" He looked pointedly at Hoyle.

"Del?" McCloud asked.

Hoyle's brother went to his satchel in response. He pulled out an envelope and then slipped a piece of paper out of it. Moving forward, he held it out and wagged it until Joe took it from his hand.

When he saw what it was Joe paled.

"Where'd you get this?" he asked, still looking at the blank bank draft with his father's signature on it.

Del scoffed. "You left us alone plenty in that big house of yours. It was simple to slip over to the desk and remove one of the drafts from the back of the book. As to the signature, all I had to do was hold a piece of paper over the top draft note and run a pencil over it, and then imitate it."

Joe's heart was racing. "And what do you expect _me_ to do with it?"

"We expect you to walk into that bank with us tomorrow, with a completed draft in your hand, and to present it to the bank manager. You will tell him who you are and that your father sent you as his emissary and that, " McCloud's gaze flicked to Del, "a pair of trusted ranch hands were sent along with you to guard both you and the money you are going to withdraw on the way home."

He was shaking his head. "What makes you think any bank manager would give me my pa's money? I'm just a kid."

"For your sake, Joe Cartwright, and the sake of those in the bank, I hope you are a very convincing 'kid'."

He swallowed hard. "What do you mean?"

"Its all up to you. Who lives to walk out of that bank, or who dies." Weston McCloud held his gaze. "Either you do it my way or I will order my associates to do _whatever_ is necessary to retrieve the money. The safe will have to be blown. There _will_ be a shoot-out. People _will_ die and it will be _your_ fault."

"No, it won't – "

"Yes, it will!" McCloud came to his side. He caught his collar in his fingers and pulled him up close, so he could smell the man's cheap cologne. "You listen to me, you little runt. Either you cooperate or I will order every hostage in the bank killed. And don't get any ideas about trying to let someone know what's going on. Hoyle will be with you every minute. Won't you, Hoyle?"

Was he imagining it, or did his former friend look uncomfortable?

"Yeah, I'll watch him."

"And I'll watch _you!"_ the man in the suit snorted as he let go. "The plan was for you to _pretend_ to befriend Joe Cartwright. Don't tell me the little rich kid's got under your skin!"

Joe looked from McCloud to Hoyle and then back again. McCloud had left the door open when he came in. If he was fast enough he could get by him. If he ran down the hall shouting and making a ruckus someone was sure to ask him what was wrong. Then he could tell them to get the sheriff. Maybe even, send someone to wire his pa. Joe wanted his pa right now so bad he could _taste_ it. Pa would know what to do. Pa would know how to get him out of this predicament.

Pa would...save him.

Weston McCloud turned at that moment to face Del. Joe drew a breath and held it. This was it. It was a split second, but it was a split second he had to take advantage of. Without hesitation, Joe ducked under McCloud's arm and bolted for the door. He was small, so he slipped by without any trouble. He made it to the corridor and was headed for the stair when he heard it.

 _Click._

A hammer being cocked.

"Young man, I would stop where you are if I were you," the man in the suit hissed, his tone filled with the promised threat of the death that awaited him if he didn't.

Joe stopped cold.

"You will come back here. _Now."_

He considered it. He could still bolt. Maybe make it to the stairs. There was a chance the bullet wouldn't hit him.

Then again, there was a better chance that it _would._

Joe drew in a gulp of air and let it out slowly. Then he turned and walked back to the room. Once inside he stood there breathing hard, his nostrils flaring and his heart racing as Weston McCloud closed the door.

And locked it this time.

McCloud holstered his gun and came to stand over him again. As he spoke he shook his head. "Didn't you Pa teach you to obey your elders? What am I going to do with you, boy?" As if in answer, a sly smile twisted the brown-haired man's lips as he rolled up his sleeves.

"Obviously, nothing that shows."

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"Sir. Sir?"

Ben Cartwright started and looked up from the pile of papers he was working his way through. When he did, he found a woman looking down at him. He was seated at a table in the better of Eagle Station's hotels. It as barely noon and already he was so caught up in business he'd failed to notice a dark-eyed beauty with raven-black hair trying to make conversation with him. The older man sighed.

He disliked Stanfield Hawks more and more every day, and he hadn't even met the man!

"Forgive me," Ben said as he put down the portfolio he had been perusing.

The young lady shrugged. "If you don't want to order anything, it's less work for me," she said with a dazzling smile, "but then again if you're hungry, I'd be more than happy to get something from the kitchen for you."

"That would be lovely."

The waitress handed him a menu. "Would you like a minute to look it over?"

It was his fourth day at the hotel and he knew the menu like the back of his hand. "The roast beef will do fine," he said.

"Potatoes and beans?"

"That'll do," he replied as he handed the menu back to her. "I've been here half the week. I don't think I've seen you before."

"Probably not. I'm filling in for a friend today."

"I see. Well, thank you...?"

"Juliet. Juliet Hallenberger."

"Thank you, Juliet," he said as he handed the menu back.

"Coffee?"

"Yes, please, and water."

The young woman smiled again and nodded and then headed for the kitchen.

Ben sat staring out the window that fronted the main street of the small burgeoning town. Eagle Station was developing nicely. The site had great potential and there was even talk of it one day becoming a seat of government – when Nevada became a state. The fact that it was a main route to Virginia City didn't hurt. He'd come here to talk to a group of men who'd been let go unfairly by Stanfield Hawks and were disgruntled with the man and ready to tell some of his secrets. From what he'd learned so far he now knew that Hawks had broken several laws when he purchased the tract of land that was in dispute. With that knowledge he'd managed to get the hearing delayed a few days until he could gather further evidence and until Adam found his way to town. His eldest was late and he'd sent no word as to why. The older man leaned his chin on his fist and fingered the papers laying in front of him. He understood what they said well enough, but he wanted his oldest boy's unique take on the situation. Adam had a wonderful head for business. He had come to rely heavily on him in the years since his eldest had returned from college. Sometimes he thought that was a bit unfair.

Hoss and Joseph had gotten to be boys, while Adam never had.

Ben chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. Joseph was still a boy, even though _he_ didn't think he was. At fourteen his youngest was at that awkward stage. Joseph wanted so badly to be a man like his older brothers, but he still had a child's understanding of things. Due to the fact that he had grown up almost exclusively on the Ponderosa, the boy was really rather naive. Not childlike, but...well... He guessed the word he was looking for was 'innocent'. Of course, Joseph would take rare exception to that statement. His curly-haired boy's jaw would tighten and his nostrils flare. Then he'd get that _look_ in his eyes – the one that was halfway between anger and astonishment. His son had grown up around ranch hands and, though he'd done his best to pick good men who would be a good influence on his sons, he knew Joseph had learned a thing or two about life. The main trouble with the boy was that he was too trusting. He saw good in every one and, while that was a wonderful thing, Ben worried that – in the end – it would lead him into deep trouble one day.

Juliet was back. She placed a china cup filled with steaming coffee on the table and a pot beside it. "Your food will be out in a few minutes."

"Thank you," he said. When she remained standing there, Ben looked up at her. "Can I help you with something?"

"I just..." She paused. "Well, it's none of my business. You looked kind of sad. Is everything all right?"

He nodded. "Yes. I was just thinking about my sons. I've been away on business and I guess I am missing them."

"How many do you have?"

"Three. Two of them are grown. It's the youngest one I was thinking of. Joseph is only fourteen."

"I have a brother about that age." Juliet laughed. "He's a handful. Actually, my ma says he's _two_."

He laughed as well. "That would be Joseph."

"You said you'd been here a little less than a week. Will you be heading home soon?"

"Not soon. I'm here waiting on my eldest son to join me. We have a bit of business to do in Eagle Station and then its on to Genoa and _then_ finally home."

"I'm going to Genoa," the young woman said, "tonight, actually. My sister Jenny and her husband live there. I'm going for an extended visit."

"Well, that's a coincidence! Maybe I'll see you there."

Juliet grinned. "That would be nice. Then I'll know _three_ people in town! I'll go get your food now. I imagine its ready."

"Thank you."

As the young woman left, Ben turned back to the window just in time to see the figure of a man in black garb move past. It made him think of and long for Adam.

As it turned out, he didn't have toolong _to_ long.

"Pa."

Ben swiveled in his chair. His eldest son was standing there, framed by the arch that led into the dining room. Adam 's usually impeccable clothes were covered with trail dust. His son looked weary.

And worried.

Ben was on his feet in a second. "What's wrong?"

Adam's hazel eyes took in the dining room with all its patrons. "Do you have a room here, Pa?"

He nodded. "Why?"

His son met his challenging stare and said simply. "What I have to say needs to be said in private."

The walk to his room was one of the longest Ben had taken in his life. He _knew_ Adam. Something was wrong – _terribly_ wrong. He could see it in the way the young man held himself; in the troubled and apologetic look in his eyes. He didn't know why his mind went instantly to Joseph, but it did. By the time they reached his room, he was practically out of his mind.

"Well?" Ben demanded as he closed the door. Adam had proceeded him into the room. As his son turned and opened his mouth to reply, he cut him short. "Is it Joseph?"

Adam's hazel eyes went wide. "I don't know how you do it."

"What's happened? Is he hurt?"

"I hope not, Pa," his son answered.

The older man couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You _hope_ not? You don't _know?_ "

His eldest frowned. "We got into it, Pa. Just 'why' is not important now. I accused Joe of lying and it ended up he was telling the truth. You know Joe, he got mad..."

" _And?"_

Adam winced. "He ran away."

Ben felt like his son had slapped him. "What?"

"You remember Del and Hoyle, Pa? "

Of course, he did. He'd lived with them in his house for weeks. He didn't care about Del and Hoyle. He needed to know about Joseph.

"Yes. Yes. What about them?"

"It's them Joe took off with." At his surprised look, Adam added, "You know how they were always talking about New Orleans."

Ben went to the desk in his room and sat down on the chair beside it. He'd forgotten about the two men's connection with the town Joseph's mother had come from. "So you think he's headed for New Orleans?"

Adam was quiet a moment. "Actually, Pa, I don't."

Ben's stomach tightened. "But you just said – "

"I said Joe's with Del and Hoyle. Hoss and I, well, we figured – _if_ they were headed for Louisiana – they'd use the train." His eldest shook his head. "We checked every station between Virginia City and Eureka and no one had seen them."

"Where _is_ Hoss?"

Overcome by worry and fatigue, Adam sat on the edge of the bed. He closed his eyes for a second and then blew a breath and some tension out with it before continuing. "Hoss went back to the Ponderosa to start all over again. He's tracking them. It looked like they went up into the high country, but I'm not so sure."

The tightness in his stomach was becoming a knot. "You don't think they were really heading for New Orleans?"

"I don't know what I think, Pa, other than..." His son's troubled eyes fastened on him. "I think we trusted Del and Hoyle too readily."

Had they?

"Del saved your brother's life."

"I know that, Pa. But I can't help but wonder if he did it because he had a _reason_ to do it."

"Such as?"

Adam shrugged.

Ben knew what it was like – that gut feeling where the welfare of someone he loved was concerned. There was no way to explain it, it just _was_.

The older man remained silent a moment and then he asked, "What is Hoss going to do if he can't pick up their trail?"

"Head for Genoa. I told him to be there the day after tomorrow. I knew you'd have to finish up whatever you were doing here and then head there like you planned."

Business couldn't wait, unfortunately, since the courts were involved, though there was no way he could concentrate on the fight with Hawks now.

Ben thought a moment. "Your youngest brother flies off the handle with little provocation, but he usually cools down just about as fast. He could be on his way back to the Ponderosa now."

His eldest was silent a moment. What he said next pulled that knot about as tight as it could get.

"If he can."

A chill ran through him, turning the blood in his veins to ice. "What aren't you telling me, Adam?"

"I'm not hiding anything, Pa. It's just a feeling." His son rose and came to his side. "I think Del and Hoyle deliberately magnified the trouble between me and Joe. I think they stoked the fire and kept him mad enough that he went with them. I think..." He drew a deep breath. "I think they have some plan and Joe's a part of it."

"But what kind of plan? What could they want with a fourteen year old boy?"

"I don't know, Pa. I really don't."

Ben didn't either. But come Hell or high water, Stanfield Hawks and his nefarious dealings not withstanding, he was going to find out.

END OF PART TWO


	11. Chapter 10

PART THREE

oooooooooooooooooooooo

 _Then Jonah prayed unto the Lord his God out of the fish's belly and said, I cried by reason of mine affliction unto the Lord, and he heard me; out of the belly of hell cried I, and thou heardest my voice. Jonah 2: 1-2_

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TEN

Hoss Cartwright dismounted and looked up at the sky. Near a day had passed since he and Adam had parted and he wasn't one whit closer to finding their missing baby brother. He'd gone back to the ranch house as they'd agreed and started a slow and careful search following what tracks remained. When he came to the place where the horses had gone up into the hills he'd checked it out thoroughly, but pretty quickly decided it had been a ruse as they suspected and returned to the road. Unfortunately, whoever was covering their tracks – and he figured it was Del – was pretty expert at it.

 _So_ expert, in fact, it made him nervous.

Once he'd determined Joe and the others had stuck to the road, the big man started moving quickly. There were a good many roads along the way the three of them could have veered off on, but for some reason – some gut-wrenching reason – he felt they'd gone south. Maybe it was Little Joe's attraction to it or maybe there was an angel sitting on his shoulder whispering in his ear, but he'd pointed Chubb's nose toward Genoa and started riding as hard and as fast as he could. He was past Virginia City now. The next big town was Eagle Station. That's where Adam and Pa were. He hoped he could catch them before they moved on to Genoa. The big man wasn't sure why. He just did.

He knew it was important.

For the most part, since he'd started, he'd ridden without stopping. He was doing so now mostly to let Chubb rest and feed for a while. He was a large man, even at eighteen, and he knew his bulk wore the horse out faster than it would have if he'd been carrying a little squirt like Little Joe on his back.

Hoss drew a sharp breath as tears flooded his eyes and a world of regret washed over him. If he'd just stood up for Joe against Adam, none of this would have happened. The trouble was for just a second – due mostly to the fact that Little Joe'd been drinking – he actually thought his baby brother might _be_ lying.

It was a choice he hoped he didn't live to regret in a _big_ way.

After wiping the tears off of his face with the back of his sleeve, Hoss went back to doing what he had been doing, which was relieving Chubb of his saddle. He'd just undone the first of the buckles when he a rider approaching. Taking his rifle from the holster that held it, Hoss turned and – keeping it casually at his side – awaited whoever was coming.

A minute later he returned the gun to its holster and went to meet Roy Coffee.

"Hey, there, Sheriff Roy!" he called jovially.

A closer sight of the lawman wiped the smile right off of his face.

"What's wrong?" he asked as the lawman dismounted.

"If you Cartwrights aren't the _dangest_ things to track down!" the sheriff snorted. "I been riding for a near a day trying to find just _one_ of you!"

"Sorry, Sheriff Roy. Pa and Adam are in Eagle Station. I've been... I've been doing some trackin'." He hesitated to mention just ' _what_ ' it was he was tracking. Roy didn't need to know Little Joe had done got a mad on and run away. "What's up?"

The lawman reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. As he unfolded it, Hoss realized it was a wanted poster. The lawman held it out to him.

"Anyone you recognize?"

Hoss frowned as he took it and then looked down. He stared at the meaningless face some artist had sketched and then quickly read through the description. When he looked back up, it was with puzzlement.

"No. Should I?"

"Take another look at the man."

Hoss scratched his head and did as asked. The drawing of the outlaw was one of those that must have been based on witness descriptions. It didn't look like whoever had drawed it had seen the man since it was kind of cartoony. The outlaw had a mustache and side whiskers and his hair looked kind of medium in tone, but then sometimes that just had to do with printing the posters.

There _was_ something about the eyes.

He shook his head. "Nope."

Sheriff Roy shook his head. "Well now, that sure makes me feel a sight better since you and yours done lived with the man for night onto two months!"

Hoss' crisp blue eyes narrowed. He looked again.

It was Del.

He went on then to reread the description of the outlaw – _'dangerous, wanted for extortion, bank robbery, and possible...'_

Murder.

He had to sit down.

As the big man stumbled over to a felled tree, the sheriff asked, "Hoss? What's wrong? What ain't you told me?" Sheriff Roy followed him and stood by him as he dropped heavily onto the tree's rough surface. "Hoss?"

It took a second. He was so plumb wore out with travel and worry already, that thinking what he had done – sending Little Joe off into the hands of a man who had a $6000 price on his head – had the power to leech all the strength out of him.

"I just hope I ain't killed him," he managed at last.

"Who? DeLoyd Beaumont? Hoss, you better tell me straight – "

"No. Little Joe."

The lawman stared at him for a full ten heartbeats. His voice had softened when he spoke. "You want to explain that to me, son?"

Hoss fought back tears the whole time and he knew the sheriff heard them choke in his voice, but he didn't care. Hoss explained the whole thing to Roy Coffee. He told him about the cattle drive that went wrong, the lies Hoyle told – for he knew now they _had_ been lies – about Adam and Little Joe's fight, about him...him not _backing_ Joe, and his baby brother's flight from home in the middle of the night.

Sheriff Roy's hand came down on his shoulder. "Son, it ain't your fault. First of all, those two are experts. I wired the last town they were seen in and there's a poster for Hoyle too. Seems the law thinks that boy's at least eighteen, but he passes for less. They've fooled a lot of people." His father's longtime friend paused, as if what he had to say was going to be hard to hear. "And as to that there fight between Adam and Little Joe and what you did or did not do, it was your little brother who chose to take off. You know, Hoss, I think I worry for that boy as much as your Pa does. There's somethin' to say about thinkin' with your heart, but not when it comes before your _head!"_

Hoss sniffed. He nodded. "Thanks."

"Now, you say your Pa and Adam is in Eagle Station?"

"They might be on their way to Genoa by now," he said as he stood up. "Can't be sure."

The sheriff's gaze went to Chubb. "How long afore that horse of yours is rested?"

Hoss knew he should give the animal a good half hour, but he had a deep-down twist-of-the-gut just-can't-do-it feeling that that half hour might mean the difference between life and death for his baby brother.

"He's ready now."

The older man eyed him and his mount. The look the sheriff gave him said he knew neither of them was ready. But it also said he understood.

"Okay, son. Let's go find your Pa."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was close to sundown, which meant it was close to the time the new Genoa City bank would shut down for the day. The sky overhead was filled with clouds and there was a chill in the air that spoke of rain. Joe was standing in the alley beside the hotel, which was across the street from the bank, surrounded by seven men including DeLoyd Beaumont – he just _couldn't_ think of him as 'Del' anymore – Hoyle, and Weston McCloud. The other four, from what he understood, were hired guns. McCloud had decided they would enter the bank one half hour before the business day ended. They'd pretend to conduct legitimate business using him and his pa's bank draft right up to the time when the 'open-closed' sign was turned and then, if Weston didn't have what he wanted, they'd kill everybody who was still in the bank, blow the safe, and light out of town. Joe didn't know if they meant to kill him, but if they murdered everybody else in the bank he'd just as soon they did.

He wouldn't be able to live with himself if his stupidity caused other people to die.

A young couple had just headed in. The pretty lady had long shining black hair that fell in a wave to the shoulders of her red dress. She hung on the arm of a handsome man in a suit who kissed her and touched her face gently.. They obviously cared for each other deeply. Before that there'd been a fat old man with his wife and a passel of giggling kids walk in. Thank God they'd done their business quickly and left. At the end of the day there was no knowing _who_ would be in the bank. Because of that he had to go along with McCloud's scheme, even if he came out looking like an outlaw in the end.

"Ready?" DeLoyd asked.

The man in the suit turned to him. "You remember, boy," McCloud said, "it's all riding on _your_ shoulders – the safety and lives of all those people in that bank are on you. You cooperate and do your part and they won't be hurt."

Joe's jaw was tight. "And what happens afterward?" he countered. "Those people are going to have seen you. You want me to believe you're just going to let all of them go?" It plagued him, that doubt. He was willing to do what he had to do to keep them all safe, but as his pa always said, 'There's no honor among thieves'. "How do I know you're not just going to kill everyone anyway?"

"Defiant to the end!" McCloud snarled, jabbing him in the ribs, bringing an instant shooting pain that took his breath away. The man had beaten him the night before, keeping each and every blow between his shoulders and hips. His ribs had taken the brunt of the attack. He thought one of them was cracked, but there was no way to be sure. As a tear escaped his eye and ran down his cheek, the McCloud leaned in. "You won't know. So its up to you, I guess, if you want to risk being responsible for the deaths of _every_ man, woman, and child in that bank at closing time."

"Just shut up, Joe, and do what you're told," a low voice warned. Hoyle was right behind him. "And maybe you'll come out of this alive."

"What would you care?" he snapped as he whirled about. Just before hands gripped him and turned him back, he managed to lock eyes with the young man he had thought of as a friend.

Hoyle was scared.

 _Real_ scared.

It was Weston who had hold of him. Turning to DeLoyd, he warned, "You keep that little brother of yours under control or I'll – "

"Or you'll _what?"_ the blond man countered quickly. "You touch a hair on my little brother's head and I will personally see to it, Mister McCloud, that you aren't around to spend that money you're so all-fired sure you have to have!"

Like Pa said. No honor among thieves.

The two men stared each other down for several heartbeats and then the man in the suit growled. "Time to go." Returning his gaze to Joe, McCloud shook him and forced him to meet his stare one last time. "Remember, boy. This is the first time your pa has sent you with a bank draft. DeLoyd and his brother here are ranch hands come along to guard you and the money on the way home. If they ask, you tell them you're sixteen." McCloud made a face as he looked him up and down. "Too bad you're so puny. That's gonna be a stretch."

Joe wanted to respond to the insult, but he didn't. It was the truth after all. He was a skinny little kid who was way in over his head, who had gotten too big for his britches and thought he was a man. A skinny little kid who had let himself be fooled and was looking now at either ending up dead or being branded as a criminal. And worse than that, his being foolish might get a lot of innocent people killed.

Right now he'd give anything to go back to being Hoss' _'punkin'_ and Adam's ' _little buddy'_ and Pa...oh Pa!...

Pa's baby boy.

Weston's hand shoved him forward into the street. As they entered the waning daylight the town clock struck quarter after four.

Forty-five minutes.

He had forty-five minutes left.

Only God knew if he would live to see forty- _six._

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam Cartwright waited outside of the hotel in Eagle Station for his father to emerge. Pa was settling up his hotel bill before they headed south. The two of them intended to ride as far as they could tonight, until the dark overtook them. That should put them in Genoa by sundown the next day. It wasn't a long or a hard ride, but distance was distance and there were places where the road gave way to little more than a footpath. Shifting anxiously, the man in black cast his gaze heavenward. The sky was heavy with pendulous clouds threatening rain. If that happened, then the going would be much slower. He begrudged the time it would take them to get to Genoa, but in all honesty he had no idea where else to go. Unless Hoss had picked up a trail they might as well be blind and deaf and dumb. There was no knowing what direction Del would have taken, if not south. That heavenward gaze was meant for more than just judging the weather. While his eyes were aimed upward, Adam also pleaded with God.

"Joe's just a kid, Lord. You can't take him now. Little brother's got too much life in him." He chuckled softly. "It'll take him at least ninety years to use all of the energy you gave him up."

Returning his gaze to the earth, Adam watched the people of Eagle Station as they went about their daily routine, shutting the town down for the night. The bank and the mercantiles were going dark, while the saloons and other dens of possible iniquity were turning up their lamps. It was a quarter until five and soon the town would fill with working men seeking to blow off a little steam. And a few pickpockets looking to make a living. There'd be 'working' women as well, out strolling the boardwalks, looking for an easy mark. The soiled doves, as they were known, would be hoping against hope to land a mine owner or timber baron. Most likely, they'd end up with a ranch hand or miner instead who had more desire than money in his pocket. Such were the ways of a town. He'd grown used to it during his time in Boston.

It would all be new to Little Joe.

Adam glanced anxiously at the hotel door. His father had yet to make an appearance. Every minute they lingered ate away at him. If Joe had gone with Del and Hoyle willingly it was one thing. But if his brother had been forced and he chose to try escape, that would leave him at the mercy of strangers in a town large enough not to care about one lost and frightened boy. There were white slavers and crimpers and just plain evil men in the city whose entire thought was bent on finding and devouring attractive young men like Joe. He had to find his brother. He had to get to Joe before anything...

Before anything, well, _happened._

Adam ran a hand over his scruffy chin. His young brother's life could very well hang on the mistake he had made of trusting Hoyle over Joe. If someone took advantage of Joe – if someone _used_ him in the wrong way – his brother might never be the same. And it would be _his_ fault. He'd pushed him too hard, expected too much, and in the end failed him by accusing him of something he didn't do.

Adam's eyes went skyward again.

"Give me another chance, God. Okay?"

"Adam?"

With a sigh of relief he turned toward his father who was just stepping down off the porch. "Did you get everything done, Pa?"

"Yes. " Ben looked at the sky and scowled. "I hate to take the time, but we need to go to the wire office and send a telegram to Roy. I want him to know what's going on." His father paused. "Just in case."

Three words. And they almost undid him.

His father stepped close. "We'll find Joseph, Adam, and he'll be all right."

"I hope you're right, Pa," he said, denying the current wave of tears he'd been fighting. "When I think of Joe out there, broken-hearted and confused, _crushed_ really by the fact that the two men he trusted are out to do him harm, it makes me..."

"Boil?"

Adam snorted. "Yeah. And cry."

His father smiled – a sad understanding smile. "Welcome to the world of parenthood."

The man in black pursed his lips. "I can take out a wolf, Pa, deal with a stampede of cattle, face down angry miners and defiant lumber jacks, and even stare into the eyes of Paiutes, but I'm not sure I've got the guts to be a pa. I don't know how you've kept yourself sane all these years."

The older man's eyes went to the sky. "I'm not alone." Those black orbs rested next on him. "And neither is Joseph. God will keep him until we find him."

He nodded, though he was less certain than his father that's God's ways were always _man's_ ways. "We should get going if we want to cover any ground tonight. The sun will be down soon and I don't like the look of the sky."

"You're right," Pa agreed. With a nod he indicated the opposite side of the street. "The telegraph office is over there."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

They'd reached the city of Mound House.

Hoss was standing outside the telegraph office, waiting on Sheriff Coffee. The lawman had thought it wise to send a message on to both Eagle Station and Genoa telling Pa about Del and Hoyle and who they really were. Since Pa was dealing with business, it was likely he'd stop in and see if anyone had wired him about anything. He sure wished he could be with Pa when he read that telegram. At least he knew Adam would be there. It was gonna be hard. Little Joe running away would hurt their pa enough. Knowing Pa. he'd feel like he'd failed somehow. But knowing that the men Little Joe done took off with were wanted by the law was gonna make him feel even that much worse.

The big man whistled low. Six _thousand_ dollars reward. And that was just for Del. Hoyle had a price on his head too, though it was a mite lower. Hoss thought of the boy and how much he looked like Little Joe. He wondered what he'd do if his brother turned to a life of crime. Loving Little Joe wouldn't stop just because his brother chose the wrong path. He thought Del loved Hoyle. At least, watching them, it had seemed that way.

But if you loved someone, you protected them – you didn't put them in harm's way.

Did you?

Hoss started out of his reverie as Roy Coffee appeared in the telegraph office doorway. The older man was holding a piece of paper.

"You get a message too, Sheriff?" Hoss asked as the older man stepped off the porch.

The lawman was concentrating on what he was reading. It took a second before he looked up and at him. "This here's from Indian Hills. Someone there thinks they saw DeLoyd Beaumont at the livery exchanging horses yesterday mid-afternoon. Said there was _two_ boys with him as well as some other men." The lawman folded the message and tucked it in his pocket. "If that's the case, then they're headed for Genoa all right."

Hoss was shaking his head. "What would those men want Little Joe for?"

"If I had to guess?" Sheriff Roy held his gaze. His voice was soft but firm. "As a hostage. The bank manager there, name of Lemuel Douglas, knows your Pa. He'd think mighty hard about hesitatin' to open that vault of his if someone was holdin' a gun to Little Joe's head."

He could see it. Little Joe, in a criminal's hands, the barrel of a pistol pressed into those golden brown curls.

It made him sick.

"You all right, son?" the lawman asked.

Hoss shook his head. He opened his arms wide. "No, Sheriff Roy, I ain't right. And I ain't gonna _be_ right until I got Little Joe back and right in these here hands."

"The sooner we get goin', the sooner that's like to be," the older man replied.

That was what he was thinking.

"Well, then, what are we waitin' for? Lets get to Genoa."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe fought to master his fear. He glanced at the clock and noted it was four-thirty-three. They'd entered the new Genoa bank and asked to see the manager. He'd told the clerk that met them his name and said his pa had sent him to withdraw enough money from the bank to pay the men for the upcoming winter cattle drive. McCloud and DeLoyd had settled on seven thousand dollars, thinking that was reasonable and wouldn't seem like too much. He knew they were right. Pa usually kept somewhere between five and ten thousand in the safe this time of year to cover year-end expenses and then there was the money to deal with Hawks as well.

As he waited, Joe's gaze roamed around the room, noting the people who occupied the bank. The pretty dark-haired lady and her husband or beau were still there, sitting on chairs to the side, osculating. There was an older man – looked to be about seventy – who had a little boy with him. Probably a grandchild. There were also a couple of older ladies. They were dressed to the nines, so they were probably well-off, and were standing by the counter arguing about how much money to withdraw from their savings. Joe swallowed hard as his eyes went from the banks' patrons to the men watching them. Four gunslingers had come in with them. One was pretending to make out a deposit slip. Another was sitting in a chair by the kissing couple, reading the paper. The last two were standing by the door, talking and looking for all the world like they were just passing the time of day. He knew better. He knew each and every one of them had a gun and he wasn't gonna hesitate to use it if something went wrong.

And then there was Weston McCloud. He was watching too from across the room.

Joe sucked in air. He shivered as he let it out slow through his nostrils. Nothing could go wrong. Even if that bank manager thought he was one of them.

 _Nothing_ could go wrong.

"Joseph Cartwright?"

Joe looked up. A man about his father's age, with blond hair going white and a long kind face, was approaching him. He straightened up and took a step toward him. "Yes, sir."

The man studied him a moment with his pale green eyes. "Yes, I can see it. In the eyes and the set of the jaw." The bank manager smiled. "You favor your mother, Marie."

Joe blinked. "Did you know my mama, sir?"

"I met her a few times. Lovely woman. Such a shame about the accident." The man held out his hand. "Lemuel Douglas."

Joe took it. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

The bank manager's face formed a frown as he continued to look at him. " _How_ old are you, Joseph?"

"Sixteen," he answered without hesitation, telling the lie he had been told to tell.

Lemuel stared at him a moment longer. "I remember your mother was quite petite. If you don't mind my saying so, Joseph, you are a very _young_ looking sixteen."

He forced a laugh. "That's what everyone says. And I _just_ turned sixteen, sir. That's why Pa let me come. He said I was old enough now to fetch the payroll money on my own."

The manager looked behind him. "I don't see Adam or Hoss."

"They're with Pa in Eagle Station," he answered quickly. "Pa sent a couple of trusted hands with me instead." He indicated DeLoyd and Hoyle with a nod. "They're like family."

The older man was looking at them. It seemed, from the expression on his face, that he wasn't entirely pleased with what he saw. "I assume you have the bank draft from your father?"

Joe nodded. He reached into his pocket and drew it out.

"Seven thousand? That's a lot of cash to carry."

 _Just give it to me,_ Joe pleaded silently. _Its just money. Give it to me. I don't want you or anyone else to get hurt!_

"We've got a big herd this year, sir. Pa's hired more men than usual."

"I see." The bank manager's pale eyes had not left Del and Hoyle. "Why don't you step into my office, Joseph? I need to check the signature on this draft against the one we have on file."

"Don't you..." Joe swallowed hard. "Don't you trust me?"

"Of course," Lemuel said with an easy smile. "It's policy. Even with regulars."

Joe wanted to glance at Del or McCloud to get permission, but he knew that would make Mister Douglas suspicious. Steeling himself, he nodded and then followed the man into his office.

Once inside Lemuel Douglas sat at his desk. He took a key and opened the top drawer and drew out a book. While he did, Joe snuck a look behind. DeLoyd and McCloud were talking – and watching him closely.

The bank manager looked up. He held out his hand.

Joe surrendered the falsified bank draft and then stepped back.

"Sit down, Joseph," Lemuel said. "This will take a minute."

He stifled a sigh as he dropped into the chair. Somehow that seemed to be _all_ he was doing today.

Lemuel Douglas ran his hand along the index in the ledger. As he did, he said quietly, "Joe, I can see you are under duress. Those men are not your father's workers are they?"

Every muscle in his body went rigid.

"Just nod if I am right."

It terrified him to do it, but he did. Joe nodded.

The bank manager lifted a magnifier to his eye. He took time comparing the two signatures.  
"Have they threatened to harm you and the people in the bank if you don't comply?"

Again, Joe nodded.

Lemuel removed the magnifier and returned it to its case. Then he made a show of handing him the bank draft back. "I am going to pretend to open the vault, but before I do, I am going to trip the alarm. We have a modern bank. It is connected to the sheriff's office. The law will be here in a few minutes."

He held out his hand as if to shake Joe's.

Rising, Joe took it. "But you can't do that, sir!" His whisper was quiet and fierce. "They told me they'll kill everyone in the bank!"

"An outlaw's threat. They prey on fear." The older man held his gaze. "Joseph, it is my sworn duty to protect the funds entrusted to my care. Do you understand?"

He nodded. Reluctantly.

"Everything appears to be in order, Mister Cartwright," Lemuel said loudly even as Joe noticed him go to the wall and pull a cord. "Come with me to the vault. It won't be long."

Joe followed dutifully. He tried to appear calm even though everything that was in him wanted to scream to the two ladies and the young couple, to the grandpa and the little boy - _RUN!_ As they walked to the back of the bank where the vault was located time slowed. He saw the grandpa take the boy's hand. Saw the man with the woman stand up. He noticed it was raining. It was funny. Mister Douglas's words had slowed too.

"This...way...Joseph. It...won't...be...long..."

Time began to race again when he saw Weston McCloud – who sitting in front of the window – nudge Hoyle. The two of them rose from their chairs and followed.

"I imagine you have never seen anything like our new safe," Mister Douglas was saying. "This is the reason your father moved the bulk of his money here. The old one in the basement is a four tumbler. This new Chubbs' vault has a six tumbler lock. The combination is known only to me and the manufacturer, so you can reassure your father that his funds are completely secure." As they reached the vault and the older man wrapped his fingers around the handle, his father's friend turned to look at him and smiled. The bank manager was so confident it made Joe confident too – and hopeful. Maybe it would all come out right. Maybe the law _would_ arrive and surprise Weston McCloud and DeLoyd Beaumont and take them and all their men into custody before they could hurt anyone. That was what would happen in one of the dime novels he liked to read. The good guys would win and the bad guys would pay.

But dime novels were fiction and this was real life.

As the tumblers began to click Joe heard a man's sharp intake of breath and a woman's stifled scream. He turned and saw the grandpa thrust his grandson to the floor and then lay on top of him. The ladies who had been arguing fell silent and backed into a corner with their hands over their mouths as several men with badges stepped into the room, rifles in hand. Joe opened his mouth to shout out a warning, but nothing came out.

Nothing but a short bark of surprise as the bank turned into a battlefield.


	12. Chapter 11

ELEVEN

"Adam..."

Adam turned toward the telegraph office. Before that his attention had been on the sky. It was clouding up and growing darker. The wind had picked up and it threatened to blow the hat off his head. Catching it, he held it on as he went to meet his father. Seldom had he seen the older man look so pale. He had a telegraph in his hand.

His hand was shaking.

"Pa?"

His father drew a breath as he handed him the message. A quick glance brought relief. It was from Roy Coffee. A longer one filled him with dread.

Dear God, he'd been right all along.

The short message contained a warning about DeLoyd and Hoyle Beaumont. Del and his brother had been in with the bank robbers all along. The blond man had taken advantage of Joe's kidnapping to curry favor with their family and then stolen their most priceless treasure.

Joe himself.

The lawman and Hoss were on their way.

"Should we wait for them, Pa?" he asked as he handed it back. "For Roy and Hoss?

The telegram had been sent from Mound City. That meant the pair were three or four hours out from Eagle Station.

"I think we should. I wired back after I read it to let them know we're here. I can only pray they waited for a reply." His father sought his gaze and held it. "I told them we would wait for them here. _Both_ of us. Then all of us – you, me, Hoss and Roy – will ride to Genoa in search of your brother."

"We don't know for certain Joe is _in_ Genoa, Pa."

The older man scowled. "They're there. It's the only thing that makes sense. From the conversations he would have overheard during his time at the house, Del would know I have funds in the new bank."

"But Pa, the Genoa bank was robbed less than two months ago and – "

"Precisely. The _old_ bank not the new one with the greatest amount of cash in it." His father shook his head. "Its a brilliant plan. No one would expect Genoa to be robbed again, at least, not this soon."

He was beginning to understand. "Pa..."

"Yes?"

"Early on I found Del in the area of your office. I didn't think much of it at the time, but he could have been there to take something."

His father was nodding. "There was a missing draft note. I thought I had simply forgotten that I destroyed it, though I found it odd it had been detached from the _back_ of the book."

Adam felt sick to his stomach. "So that means Del intends to use that draft and Little Joe –"

"To obtain the money. Yes. With that new safe, it would take a lot of trouble to break it. It would be far easier to have the manager open it and – "

"And _then_ take the cash." Adam wet his lips. "Pa, that means that Joe – "

"Is only useful to them _until_ they get what they want."

Silence fell. Neither of them had the heart to move on to the next logical step.

The older man gripped his shoulder. "Come on, son. I told Roy and Hoss we would be at the hotel."

Adam shook his head. "I'd like to go ahead, Pa. "

"I know you would, but the answer is 'no'. It won't be long until Roy and your brother are here. You and I can best use that time seeking out the law and advising them as to what we think might be going on so they can wire the sheriff in Genoa.""

The black-haired man looked longingly down the road. Pa was right, of course. Genoa was somewhere around fifteen miles away. In the daylight, at a reasonable pace, it would take maybe half a day to get there. But the day was gone and night was falling fast and try as they might, they would probably make it only a few miles down the road before being forced to stop – if that. Even as they spoke a gentle rain had begun to fall. If it grew into a storm it would slow them down, maybe even keep them in Eagle Station for another day.

"I don't know, Pa," he said softly. "I've got this feeling..."

"I have it too, son," his father agreed as he gripped the shoulder of his black shirt. "I won't order you to stay, but I think its best we marshal what forces we can and then head out together. There's strength in numbers."

Adam nodded grudgingly.

"Now why don't we go to the hotel and get something to eat? We'll both need our strength if we're going to help your brother."

"You go ahead, Pa. I'll be there in a minute."

His father squeezed his shoulder again. "I'll be waiting. Don't be long."

Adam remained in the middle of the street. He stood there, looking south, as the wind howled and the rain began to pound the dusty road beneath his boots. Everything that was in him was bent toward that road. At the end of it lay his baby brother – a baby brother who was in the hands of desperate men. When he closed his eyes he could see Little Joe as a baby, with that head of blond curls, toddling and laughing, giggling like a girl when he fell down. Or as a young boy, beaming with pride when he landed his first fish. Or now, as a youth reaching for manhood, sure and certain, strong...

And so vulnerable.

When he opened them all he could see was that empty road and his brother's bleak future. Joe had been lured away from his family, lied to and probably abused, and now was being forced to participate in a bank robbery that could leave him branded as a criminal or...

Dead.

Adam turned his face to the sky and willed the rain to wash away the worry.

It didn't work. He knew it wouldn't.

But it did hide his tears.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

As gunfire erupted, sending bullets flying both into and out of the bank, time slowed once again. Joe heard Hoyle say something. He saw Mister Douglas lower his head as his hand came up. The bank manager looked at him, puzzled, even as his white shirt turned red with his blood. As Mister Douglas fell Joe turned to find Hoyle standing behind him. He was holding a smoking gun. Hoyle looked scared. He shouted something. The ringing in his head wouldn't let him hear it. The next thing he knew the smoking gun was in his hand and Del was advancing toward both of them, an angry look on his face. The gunmen McCloud had hired were crouching behind counters and chairs, firing at the advancing lawman. Two of them were already wounded, but so were the lawman. He could see several men on the ground just outside the bank. The room was full of acrid choking smoke. It made it had to see and harder to breathe. He could hear the older women coughing. They had managed to make it inside the teller's cage. The young couple who had been sitting in the chairs were on the floor. The man had been taken a bullet in his upper leg and was growing still and pale. The woman was sobbing. The grandpa had his head up, looking around, shouting at the boy who lay under him to ' _Keep down!_ ' The child was sobbing just like the lady; big heart-rending sobs that tore at Joe's heart even as time started again and he began to wonder what was going to happen to him.

Turning back toward Hoyle he saw two things – Hoyle and Del were gone and Weston McCloud was on top of him.

Fingers locked with brutal strength in the hair at the back of his head and a hand grabbed his arm and shook the gun out of it. Before he could even try to retrieve it, McCloud dragged him toward the back of the bank.

"You're coming with me, Cartwright," the man in the suit snarled. "You're my ticket out of here."

He lost something in that moment. Later, his pa would tell him it was innocence. Joe realized at that moment that there was true evil in the world. None of it mattered to Weston McCloud, not the old women, the child and his grandpa, or the young couple. Nothing mattered but his own skin and he would do anything and everything he had to do to keep it intact including kidnapping him and using him to blackmail his father.

He couldn't let that happen.

Joe continued to mock struggle 'cause he knew McCloud would expect it. He was curious where the man in the suit was taking him. Weston used the gun smoke as a screen, darting in and out of the thick parts as he propelled him toward the far back corner of the bank. When they got there McCloud veered right and began to drag him down a stone staircase.

As they practically fell down it, Joe asked, "What are you doing?"

McCloud let loose of his hair. Ten seconds later the barrel of a pistol pressed into his sweat-soaked curls. "Getting the Hell out of here," he growled.

"Through the basement?"

Joe felt the metal top of the gun strike his skull. "You just shut up and do as you're told, Cartwright! Do you think I didn't check this place out thoroughly before making a robbery attempt? There's a coal chute in the basement that will provide an escape route. The law isn't going to think of it – at least not at first."

They were standing on the cellar floor now. Even as he thought how silly it was to notice, Joe became aware that it was made of bricks laid down in a hounds-tooth pattern. The room they were standing in had a great big old vault at the back of it.

The foot thick door was open.

McCloud had stopped. He hesitated, listening. Above them the pop of gunfire was slowing. Someone was winning the fight – unfortunately Joe had no way of knowing _who_.

And no time.

"Come on, kid!" the man in the suit barked.

Joe's green eyes went from the coal chute to the open vault. It was now or never.

Now, and he might just get away. Never, and his Pa would find his rotting corpse across the next territorial border.

Sucking in air, Joe ducked away from the pistol. Dropping his head, he sunk his teeth into the McCloud's other hand. As his captor cried out in shock and released his hold on him, Joe made a beeline for the vault.

"Damn nuisance kid!" McCloud shouted. Joe heard a hammer being cocked.

There was only one thing to do once he reached the vault. It was 'past desperate' as that Shakespeare fellow Adam liked so much was wont to say. Stepping inside, Joe wrapped his fingers around the harp-shaped metal piece on the back of the vault door and pulled for all he was worth.

The door slammed and he was locked inside.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hoss and Sheriff Roy arrived in Eagle Station as the sun set. They were both soaked to the skin, with water dripping off their slickers and hats. The big man stomped hard and shook like a dog and then followed Roy Coffee into the front hall of the fancy hotel. They'd seen his Pa and Adam sitting in the dining room. When his pa saw them, the older man sprang to his feet and came to join them.

"Roy," Pa said, shaking the lawman's hand. With a nod, he added, "Son."

It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Any sign of Little Joe?"

His father glanced back at Adam. "Your brother has a theory. I want you both to hear it. Then we need to get a couple of hours of shut-eye, if we can, before heading to Genoa. I'd hoped to start tonight, but with this rain..."

If God was looking out for all of them like his pa always said, it was sure a wonder why a storm had to come up at just this time.

' _God's ways are mysterious, son_ ,' Pa also liked to say.

Usually Hoss liked mysteries, but not today – not with his little brother's life on the line.

As they went to the table and sat down, Adam did that 'thing' he did. He drew in a breath and held it as he hunched forward over the table, as if he was leaning into the problem straight away just to prove he weren't gonna run from it. Finally his brother's lips pursed and then he let out a low, slow breath.

"Considering what we now know about Del and Hoyle Beaumont, we can assume Del was in that posse looking for the bank robbers – with Hoyle following behind – in order to know what law knew and then inform the other members of their gang. When they came upon Joe, Del improvised and decided he could use the situation to his benefit. When we offered to take him and his brother in, it gave them a place to lay low and also the opportunity to learn our routines and other valuable information. Obviously, from the time he spent with us, Del would know that Pa had money in Genoa right now and that it was in the new bank. I think," Adam glanced at their father, "I think Hoyle befriended Joe because all along he and Del intended to take Joe with them either as a hostage, or to use him to gain the trust of Lemuel Douglas, the bank's manager. Joe's...anger with me gave them a way to do that, to convince him to leave on his own ratherthan having toforce him. I imagine, knowing how smart little brother is, that it didn't take him long to see through their ruse." The black-haired man leaned back in his chair. "And that's what has me the most concerned."

Their father exchanged a look with each one of them, but it was Roy Coffee who said, "Makes sense so far. Go on, son."

"They'd robbed the old bank a few months back, so Del probably figured no one would expect them to hit the new one so quickly. I'm sure they'd canvassed it and figured out all the angles by the time they came into our lives, but the opportunity to make it happen arose after the incident with Joe. Once they got him on their side they could use him to approach the manager, hoping that Lemuel would open the safe and spare them blowing it. It would be nothing to have one of Ben Cartwright's sons come to Genoa with a bank draft." Adam looked at Roy as the sheriff nodded. "Pa, had one stolen."

Hoss didn't understand. "But why take Joe? Why _not_ blow the safe just like they did the first time?"

"The new bank has a six tumbler lock. When I went to Genoa a while back, Lemuel Douglas showed it to me. That's the main reason I moved so much cash there. The new Chubbs safe is almost impossible to open without a combination," their father answered quietly.

His older brother agreed. "Little Joe would be their ticket into the vault and then out of town – or out of the territory. If the robbery went off without a hitch, the outlaws could be out of town before anyone was the wiser."

Pa's eyes rolled over to him. "Then, Hoss, your brother would become a hostage. Joseph's presence among the thieves would practically guarantee no one would try to stop them."

The big man frowned. When he spoke, his voice was hopeful. "Sounds like they need Little Joe alive then, no matter what?"

The lawman was shaking his head. "Only 'til they get to the border."

Danged if Sheriff Roy didn't have to go and say it out loud! He knew it as sure as he knew the sun would rise next morning. Saying it out loud made it all too real.

"How long's Joe been gone?" the sheriff asked.

Hoss watched the wheels turn in Adam's head as he figured it. "Two full days and part of another one. It would have taken them at least a day and a half to get to Genoa. Possibly longer."

"So, the earliest this here robbery could go down is..." Roy thought a moment. He paled. "Tonight."

They all looked out the window at the night, at the lack of light, at the pouring, pounding rain and the lightning bolts splitting the sky.

Sheriff Roy leaned back in his chair and blew out a sigh. "Ben, you know," the lawman said softly, "the soonest we're gonna see that town is tomorrow mornin'. And not then if this here rain don't stop."

Hoss watched as his father rose from the table and walked to the window. The older man leaned a hand on the sash and looked out at the muddy street. Their pa had a way about him. Somehow he knew whenever one of them was in trouble. And once he knew, there was no stopping him until he found you and you were safe at home. That tie was tight with him and Adam, but it was ever tighter with Little Joe. That boy might as well have _been_ his father's heart. Joe's smile, his crazy laugh, his fierce sense of independence and, yeah, even his _quick-on-the-trigger_ temper were part and parcel of what kept their pa young.

Pa's hair might be turning white, but Joe kept the grass under his feet a springtime shade of green.

"It's been too long, Roy," Pa sighed. "The minute this rain stops and the road is dry enough to travel, the boys and I will head out. Its up to you if you come with us or not. If," the older man swallowed hard as he turned back into the room, " _if_ there is a robbery happening in Genoa right now and _if_ we wait until light, those men could have a ten or twelve hour lead. I simply will not abandon Joseph to such a fate."

Pa and Roy Coffee had been friends a right long time. They knew each other so well neither one of them had to say a word. The fact that Pa did meant he was talking for himself as much as for the sheriff.

And for them.

Sheriff Roy stood. "I'm with you, Ben. You know that. The minute the road is passable."

As his father nodded, Hoss rose and went to him. It wasn't all that long ago he'd been young as Joe and got himself into some mighty tough scrapes – though, truth to tell, Joe did have him beat by a long mile with how many he stumbled into. An encouraging smile planted firmly on his face, the big man placed a hand on his father's shoulder and squeezed.

"We'll find Little Joe, Pa. I know we will."

His father covered his hand with one of his own and nodded.

A second later Adam was at their side. He placed his hand on their pa's other shoulder and the three of them stood there, like that, united in flesh and spirit as well as a determination to find the missing member of their family.

And the rain kept falling.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe stood in the pitch blackness on the other side of the vault door. He took several deep breaths seeking to still his heart, which was hammering in his chest. The sound from beyond the vault was faint, but he thought he could hear McCloud cussing and at least five bullets strike the vault door. He'd escaped from the bank robber just in time. Weston McCloud was not a man who took well to being thwarted and that's what he had just been – thwarted – by circumstance, by the law, and now by him. Joe pressed his ear against the cold metal and listened. There were other voices out there but they sounded like something in a dream – far away, unreachable, nearly impossible to hear. Using his hands Joe felt the back of the two and a half foot wide, nearly foot thick metal door, running his trembling fingers over all of its various gears and locking mechanisms. After a moment he swallowed hard.

There was no way it was going to open and there was little chance anyone would be able to hear _him_ either. Still he yelled. He yelled and yelled until his throat was sore and his voice sounded like one of those bullfrogs down by the pond and he started coughing.

Then he gave up.

Joe coughed again and snorted as he drew in a deep breath of the musty air that filled the vault. Thinking furiously, he dropped to the floor and ran his hands along it. He'd remembered right, it was made of pine. Shifting to the right wall, he pressed his fingers against its cold surface. _It_ was made of metal. Looking up, Joe imagined what was there. He'd glimpsed the ceiling as he ran in. It was metal too, made in panels and held together by big old rusted, immovable screws. As Joe continued to make his way around the vault, the toes of his boots ran into something and he nearly tripped. When he knelt down to feel what it was he discovered heavy castors or wheels, and above the wheels, dozens of drawers with keyhole locks. Lockboxes. That's what they were. He'd seen Pa take some of his mama's jewels from a wooden casket at home and put them in a lockbox like that once to keep them safe.

Joe sucked in a steadying breath. He coughed again.

Pa.

The curly-headed boy shivered as he deliberately drove the comforting image of his father away. It made him weak. He'd got himself into this pickle, after all, and he'd get himself out of it as well!

Moving on, Joe continued to run his hands over everything in his path, searching for something that might help him open the door. Common sense told him it wasn't going to happen. It _was_ a bank vault, after all! But he couldn't just sit still and wait for someone to come and rescue him. No one knew he was there. Still, he told himself, stifling another gasp, someone _would_ come. After all, there'd just been a robbery. They'd check all of the vaults to see what was missing – even the old one.

Wouldn't they?

Groping with his fingers again, Joe ran into another row of lockboxes and then some empty shelves. And then more empty shelves and more boxes. Only these were open. As he shoved his fingers into them, his heart began to beat faster.

They were empty. All of them.

A shiver ran through his slender frame. So _that_ was why the vault had been standing open! It wasn't being used anymore. There were no jewels hidden away safely here, no wads of paper money or bonds.

The old bank vault in the cellar of the Genoa City Bank contained nothing at this moment but one very young and _very_ frightened fourteen year old boy.

Joe gripped the open lockboxes to steady himself and sucked in another breath and held it. His brothers were usually pretty kind to him, but he remembered one Halloween – he must have been about ten – when Adam read him a story that chilled him to the bone. It was by Edgar Allan Poe and had been called, 'The Premature Burial'. The story was about am a man who feared being buried alive. Poe's fellow didn't dream of being in a bank vault, but the result was the same. You couldn't live without air and a vault was air tight and –

Joe felt panic rise within him. He fought it down. Refused to listen to his fear.

He remembered the talk he and Adam had after they read that story and so he began to draw slow shallow breaths. He'd asked his older brother how someone could be buried alive and still tell a tale? Adam said the man in Poe's story wasn't really buried alive but, even if he had been, he would have had so much air to last him so much time. In the end his brother cautioned, it would run out quickly and so the man would need to conserve it as best he could – not move around too much or take big swallows of air so it would last as long as possible. In the end though, big brother said, it was inevitable that anyone buried alive would die.

Inevitable.

It was a big word but Joe understood it. It meant expected. Foreseeable.

 _Unavoidable._

Joe let the breath he held out slowly and was careful to draw in as little as he could. Adam had also told him that if he was ever to find himself in that kind of a situation, he should remain calm. Adam was smart, so he was gonna do what he told him. He'd breathe as little as possible and take as little in as he could to conserve the air that was in the vault so he could last longer. So there would be time...

Time for someone to find him.

Joe came to the iron gate that, with its turnstile, marked the back of the vault. It was made up of iron bars. His fingers found a little lightless window in it looking onto nothing. Joe held on to that window, imagining the world beyond the vault. Imagining his pa and his brothers and maybe even Sheriff Coffee riding into town and coming to the bank. Pa would figure out that he was there somewhere. He'd be sure to look everything over, including this old vault. Yeah, Pa would find him. Pa would find him alive.

Alive.

He _had_ to stay alive.

He wanted to live, of course, but even more, he wanted to stay alive _for_ his pa and for his brothers. He'd argued with both Adam and Hoss before he ran away. They'd be feeling guilty when it was really all his fault. And Pa... Oh God, Pa! Pa still struggled every day with his mama's death and that had been almost ten years before. If he was to die...

Joe let the breath he held come out in a sigh and then drew in a little more air. If he died, Pa would never forgive himself. So he had to live. He _had_ to. Joe laughed. Trapped as he was, desperate and without hope, _he_ had to rescue his pa.

Much as he wanted to see his mama, he didn't want her scolding him when he did because he'd come too soon.

Resting his forehead against the metal grate, Joe reached up and rubbed his temple. It was hurting. He sighed and then pivoted to look back into the vault. His jaw tightened as he considered the predicament he was in and tears entered his eyes as he envisioned his father opening that door he couldn't see and finding his corpse with broken nails and bloody fingers just like in that story by Mister Poe.

No. No, he decided.

 _No._

It wasn't going to end that way, not if he had anything to do with it.

For a second or two Joe's slender fingers grappled with the darkness, seeking something strong that he could strike the door with. When he found it – a thick metal rod broken away from the impenetrable wall of the vault – he wrenched it free. Carrying his treasure, Joe walked forward until he banged into the door. He drew a breath and held it and then wielded the metal rod as a club, bringing it down with a resounding clang!

 _Hear me_ , he willed. _Someone. Hear me!_

God. Please...

 _Someone_ hear me.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The new Genoa City Bank was closed. A black band crossed the door, sealing it off, and a black wreath hung on a peg above it in honor of the bank manager and his deputy who had been killed in the robbery attempt. Hiram Whitaker, the acting sheriff of the town, stared hard at that wreath as he pushed the tan hat he wore back on his head and looked out from the porch of the sheriff's office at desolate rain-swept town. The inclement weather had prevented him from immediately gathering a posse and heading out in pursuit of the outlaws. Sad to say, it hadn't stopped the citizens of the town. Once they heard that Lemuel Douglas had been killed, there'd been no reasoning with the dozen or so men who stood in front of his office looking like drowned rats, rifles loaded, screaming for justice and blood. Everyone in town liked Lemuel. He'd been one of Genoa's founding citizens. But there was something _more_ riling these men that that. This was the second time that their town had been violated in just a few months and the second time they'd lost their hard-earned money and, some of them, what was left of their lifesavings. He pitied anyone they caught up with.

There was sure to be a hanging or two tonight.

What bothered him the most was the rumors, well, actually the eye-witness testimony from the people held hostage in the bank. Several told the same story. Just before the bank was to close this young kid came in with five or six mean-looking men. The men hung around the bank while the kid went into the manager's office and talked to him. Hiram shook his head. That must have been about the time the alarm went off in his office. Apparently Lem took the kid to the vault and was preparing to open it, when he and his deputies appeared at the entrance. He'd seen the kid but thought nothing of it. Actually, there'd been two younger outlaws, both with curly hair, but he'd barely caught a glimpse before the gunfire started and the smoke built up and they both disappeared. Jenny Wilkerson, the young lady whose husband was at the Doc's office now, probably breathing his last, said she saw one of the kids with Lemuel just after the bank manager was shot. He was holding a smoking pistol in his hand. She said she'd heard the kid's name as he went into the office with Lem, and then again when they came out, so she was sure she'd heard it right and he was the one who had killed Lem.

Joe Cartwright.

He knew the name. Joseph Cartwright, son of Benjamin Cartwright, the biggest landholder in all of Nevada. A man of conscience from all he had heard, honest as the day was long. Hiram spit tobacco juice into the street and watched it mingle with the mud.

Apparently, this time, the apple _had_ fallen far from the tree.

He'd asked around and it seemed this _Joe_ Cartwright was the youngest of three brothers. The older ones, Adam and Hoss, had been in town before since their pa kept money in the Genoa bank – the one that had been robbed. They were both pretty well known and respected. The youngest one, well, it seemed he was a handful, and though no one had heard of him doing anything criminal, he was known for being high-tempered and defiant.

A regular little _pistol,_ from what he could tell.

Since there'd been two young men with the outlaws who had curly hair, he was hoping the lady in the bank got it wrong. He also hoped that when and if that lynch mob found the men they were hunting, common sense and the fear of God took over.

Otherwise, Benjamin Cartwright – timber baron, mine owner, and king of the Ponderosa – in spite of all that land and the hundreds of thousands of dollars he had, was going to be a lot less rich.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam Cartwright shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. He tipped his black hat back and gazed at the risen moon. The portion of the night they had spent at the hotel had been interminable, and the ride through the hours just past midnight little better. The road was full of chuckholes and unexpected hazards occasioned by the endless driving rain that had fallen earlier. He'd feared that, at any minute, he or Pa or Hoss would go down. So far, each of their mounts had picked their way through and kept them safe. If determination counted for anything in that big book God kept, then the Cartwright's account was _years_ ahead. As dogged as the land and the weather and everything else seemed to be to keep them from finding Little Joe, their combined will and resolve paid them no heed. There was no way of knowing if his theory was right but somehow – through supernatural means, perhaps – all of them had come to accept it as _fact_. His father rode to his right and his middle brother to his left. Like the storm that had passed barely an hour before midnight, the three of them were a force of nature – as sure and steady a thing as the mountains and the tall standing pines they passed. Every nerve and sinew of their beings was aimed toward finding the youngest of their clan and making sure he was safe. Every beat of Adam's heart pounded out that need. It echoed through his being – Joe. They had to find Joe . Joe had to be safe. Joe had to be whole.

Joe had to be _alive._

Adam's lips parted. It might as well have been in prayer.

"Joe..."

His big-hearted and bigger-framed brother turned and met his gaze. That need was there too in Hoss' crisp blue eyes. And Pa... God, Pa! The older man looked neither to the left or the right. He had no thought of failure or how impossible it was _not_ to fail – his only thought, his ever- _present_ thought was to find his youngest son and to make certain all was well.

To make certain they did _not_ fail.


	13. Chapter 12

TWELVE

Joe sat on the pine floor by the vault door panting shallowly. Sweat soaked his light brown locks, dripping off the ends of the spiraling curls and onto his steel gray shirt, soaking it as well. After what seemed an eternity he had given up banging on the vault door. Dropping to the cold hard floor, he'd curled up as best he could and fallen into a fitful sleep plagued with nightmares of finding himself buried alive in a pine box six feet down. Upon waking he'd taken up the metal bar and started banging again, hoping against hope that someone was in the basement of the bank and they might hear him. He'd kept it up for near another hour, banging and shouting until his throat grew to hoarse to _let_ him shout. That had given way too, just now, to exhaustion.

As he sat there, in the absolute darkness trying to breathe shallowly but wanting to pull in great gasps of air to fill his lungs, he tried not to panic. He was tired of Mister Poe's story so he'd started to think about one he learned in Sunday School. The one about Jonah and the whale. Jonah'd been running too, but from the Lord instead of from his pa and brothers. God had wanted him to do something and he plain flat-out said 'no'. Joe snorted. Pa'd taught him you just didn't say 'no' to God. God was kind of selfish about that, he guessed, He always got what he wanted. Joe leaned his head back against the vault and smiled wearily. He didn't get to have his way all the time, ' _so why should God?_ ', he'd asked when he was little. Pa, of course, had explained that God knew everything, that's why He got to have His way. And it was always for the best. God's way.

For the best...

Joe looked around. Just like Jonah must have seen when sitting in the belly of the whale, there was nothing. Nothing to let him know he wasn't the last person in the world, or that the world hadn't gone all black like Hoss' uncle had told his nephew it would when the waters rose up to swallow it. Now he wasn't one to doubt God most days, but –

 _This_ was for the best?

Raising up a little, Joe propped his back more firmly against the vault door. Running his fingers through his hair he combed the sodden curls back from his forehead. It was kind of funny really. Here the vault was, sitting in the basement of the bank. It should be clammy and cold as a cooling room. Instead it was stifling hot. His skin was wet and he was shaking, probably from the fact that he hadn't had anything to eat since noon the day before. At least, he thought it was the day before. He had no idea what day it was, or how long he had been sharing Jonah's fish palace, or even how long ago the bank had been robbed...

Hoyle.

Joe's eyes teared up as Hoyle's face sprang up before his eyes. In the end, his friend had proved himself just that. Hoyle had tried to help him. He'd stuck that gun in his hand so he could protect himself. Oh, he knew there were those who would say Hoyle had done it to implicate him in Mister Douglas' shooting. The boy snorted. If he ever got out of this place, he was going to have a _lot_ to explain. Still, he'd seen Hoyle's eyes. His friend had been sorry – sorry about the robbery, sorry he'd drug him into it, and sorry that there were both probably going to die.

As his mind began to replay the robbery, Joe shuddered. He'd seen no such remorse in Weston McCloud's eyes. The man in the cheap suit cared about nothing except himself and what he wanted. Joe's fingers touched the heavy door he leaned on. That was why he'd chosen to risk going into the vault. He knew McCloud wouldn't have hesitated to use him as a hostage, to give his Pa a chance to ransom him, and then kill him anyway once the money was in his hands. He knew his pa. Pa would do _anything_ to save him – even put Adam and Hoss and himself at risk. He just couldn't let that happen. He couldn't let any of them...die because of his stupidity and selfishness.

Joe snorted. Guess, in that way, he and God were kind of the same.

Closing his eyes, the weary boy permitted himself one deep breath of air. It was musty and old and smelled of mold, but it was about the sweetest thing there was. It was funny how the little things seemed so important now – the smell of the earth, the soft pine under his feet, the memory of Hoss' blue eyes crinkling when he laughed, Adam's firm arm around his shoulder; his father's hand touching his cheek. Joe reached up and touched his cheek just like his pa did.

And then he dissolved into tears.

The fact was, he was going to die here. If anyone had been set to check the old vault and see if something had been stolen out of it, they would have done it right after he shut himself in. No. No one was going to come down to check, and the door was so thick no one upstairs could hear him.

Joe reached up and wiped the tears away from his face with the back of a filthy sleeve. He sucked in the snot and then wiped his nose too. As he sat there in the dark and the silence he because acutely aware of the rapid beat of his own heart. He could almost hear it echo off the metal walls.

A slight smile lifted the corner of his upper lip as Joe thought about Jonah again. Would Jonah have been able to hear the beat of his heart echoing from walls made of blubber? His pa'd told him about whales. Pa knew all about them since he'd been a sailor. His pa said the fact that the whale swallowed Jonah whole was a miracle. A whale just couldn't do that. God had wanted Jonah cut off from everything so he could think.

Well, here he was, cut off from everything and thinking.

This had all started when his pride got hurt. When Adam accused him of lying. Oh, he'd been mad before, but it was the kind of mad that faded after an hour or two. That kind of 'mad' had mostly to do with not getting his own way. This 'mad' – the one with Adam – had to do with his older brother thinking bad of him. Joe shook his head. So what did do he because Adam's opinion meant so much to him? Told himself he wanted _nothing_ to do with Adam and ran away.

"Goes to show what an ignoramus you are, Joe Cartwright," he snorted.

It came down plain and simple to being the youngest. He knew that. He just couldn't accept it. Adam was _thirteen_ years older than him right now. He was a man and pa treated him like a man, giving him man-size responsibilities, and while Hoss was a good bit younger, he already _was_ man-size. Pa'd seen it, so he set middle brother to tasks that took the strength of a man. And him? Well...

He was a skinny little kid with no man-size strength or experience and it just made him mad as a nest of wet hornets.

 _Mad about things you can't control_ , Joe thought as he glanced about the near-black vault. _Well, you can't control this, Joseph Francis Cartwright._

 _You can't control the day God's gonna take you home._

He wondered about that need to control. He thought it had something to do with losing his mama. He remembered making a vow standing beside her coffin, looking down at her so beautiful and so _still._ His mama had never been still. She'd always been flying around the ranch house, her skirts swishing, her beautiful voice singing, with her arms full of flowers and other things.

Including him.

When he looked at her there in that coffin, her arms empty, quiet as fallen snow, he'd decided he'd _never_ stop moving 'cause if he did, death would catch him as it had her.

As it had him now that he was still.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

They'd ridden hard. About as hard as he could recall ever having ridden. As he halted his lathered horse, Ben Cartwright felt a moment of vertigo. Standing still seemed _wrong_ somehow.

"You okay, Pa?"

The older man turned to look at his middle son. Hoss was barely more than a boy himself, though he was struggling hard through this horrific event to be a man. Ben's lips curled in an affectionate smile. A stoic was something his middle boy was not. He'd best leave that to his older brother.

"I'm fine, son," he said, beginning to move again. "Let's find the sheriff's house."

"It's on the main street just past the office, Ben, just ahead," his old friend, Roy Coffee, offered. "Been there before. Follow me."

They'd made it to Genoa in record time. The sun was rising, but still half-hidden behind a horizon promising more rain. It was about four o'clock in the morning. Fortunately, the road from Eagle Station was a good one since it was the main route to Virginia City and had been cleared and packed and was maintained for both wagon and stage travel. The mud and chuckholes filled with rain had slowed them down and nearly took one of the horses once when he caught his foot and came close to snapping an ankle, but they had finally arrived.

Now it was time to seek out the sheriff and see if he had any information regarding Joe.

As they neared the sheriff's office, Adam was the one to spot it. On the door of the bank they'd been due to visit today, there was a black wreath. A closer look revealed bullet holes riddling the windows and doors of the establishment.

"Looks like we're too late," Roy said, stating the obvious.

Adam was staring at the wreath. He turned toward him, his jaw tight, his hazel eyes narrowed in grief.

"Pa?"

Ben's eyes went from Adam to Hoss. His middle son looked sick. "We'll not borrow trouble," he said firmly.

They didn't have to. A moment later it walked right up to them.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?"

Ben turned back to look. A man was standing in the middle of the road, weapon drawn; a silver star pinned to his vest. He couldn't see him clearly but he looked to be in his thirties and had dark brown hair. He was dressed in the clothes he had obviously put on the morning before.

"I'll handle this, Ben," his old friend said as he slipped from his horse.

Walking toward the man with his hands up, Roy said, "We don't mean no trouble. We're looking for a lost boy, most likely kidnapped." He gestured with the fingers of one hand toward his coat. "If you'll let me reach inside, I'll show you my badge."

"You're a lawman?" His tone was dubious.

"Sure enough am. Roy Coffee, out of Virginia City."

"Coffee? My predecessor mentioned a lawman named Coffee," the man said, obviously surprised. "Okay. Show me."

Ben watched as Roy opened his slicker so his badge sparked in the dim morning light. The Genoa City sheriff visibly relaxed. He holstered his gun and stuck his hand out saying, "Hiram Whitaker, acting sheriff of Genoa." As Roy took it, he added, "Sorry about the gun. It's been an ugly night. "

"Ugly?" Roy asked, clearly puzzled by the word.

The man's jaw was tight. His mouth a thin line. "Bank robbery first, followed by a lynching. Rain delayed my getting a posse together. Lem's friends took the law into their own hands. They lynched three men, two adults and one barely more than a boy. Buried them where they hung them, just outside of town. Hell of a way to start the day."

Ben's knuckles were white on the saddle horn. "They lynched a...boy?" he asked.

Hiram Whitaker looked at him. There was something in the sheriff's eyes, something that cut him to the quick.

Pity.

Ben felt the world shift.

The sheriff came to him. He waited while he dismounted and then and planted himself squarely in front of him. "May I ask your name, sir?"

The older man nodded. "Ben Cartwright." Indicating Hoss and Adam who were dismounting as well, he added, "There are my sons, Adam and Hoss. We're looking for their brother. He was taken by the men who robbed your bank. His name is – "

"Joe?"

The cut became a stab that pierced his heart. It was all _he_ could do to speak the answer, so robbed of strength was his voice.

"Yes..."

Hiram looked at him like a man who _was_ a father. "Was the boy small-built, with curly hair? Dressed like a rancher?" he asked.

He felt Adam's arm under his, supporting him. The word came out in a stutter.

"W..was...?"

Genoa's sheriff's gaze went from him to Adam and back, as if he knew there was a chance he might go down.

"I'm afraid your son is dead, Mister Cartwright."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe wasn't dead, but he was sure he was going to be soon.

He'd been sitting in the dark trying to remember just about everything he had in his head _to_ remember, trying to fill the darkness and the silence with something – anything – but _fear._ He was having a hard time of it. Every time he started thinking about something, his thoughts derailed like a loco train. He'd start thinking through everything Adam had taught him about busting broncos, but the order of how to do it, even the way to do it, got all muddled. It was like he was saying two plus two equals four, no, five, no, twenty-nine. No...

What's addition?

His pa always told him he had to slow down and _think_. Well, he was thinking slow now and it didn't seem to be helping. Like a wisp of morning mist, whatever he thought about slipped away. Joe chucked quietly. It probably slipped out through a crack he couldn't see and then and rose to join all the other wisps in the sky before floating right on up to Heaven to tickle God's nose and set the angels to laughing...

There he went again.

He'd tried getting up a few minutes before, but had given up on that too. His legs wouldn't hold him anymore. They were as wobbly as a newborn foal's. Besides, he really didn't have the energy to stand or walk around. He barely had the energy to sit. All he wanted to do was lay down on that pine floor and fall asleep.

Pine floor. There was a _pine_ floor.

Joe turned his head and looked lazily up. Was there a pine ceiling to? Was he already buried just like that man in Mister Poe's book?

Could you sit up in your coffin?

Joe shook his head to clear it. Of course not. Besides, he knew his pa wouldn't bury him in a pine coffin. Mama had had a special one made of the finest cherry, hand-carved and lined with a deep red satin. That was color his mama had loved. She looked so beautiful in it.

Mama had been here. She'd been sitting right beside him, stroking his hair and singing in French.

He hadn't been afraid then.

Actually, he was waiting for her to come back.

Back to the belly of the whale.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A shovel driven down, lifting, hefting, tossing. Not an unusual sound. It happened frequently around a ranch – manure flung in the barn, grain being struck and winnowed, weeds in the field or garden cut down and tossed in a pile along with the dirt that held them. It was the sound of good clean hard work. Yes, that's what it normally was.

Not today.

Oh, no. Not today.

Each shovelful of earth that struck the ground before him jolted twenty-seven year old Adam Cartwright with the force of a bullet penetrating flesh. The sound carried with it the same white-hot fire, the same sense of being torn apart – the same sick-in-the-gut terror that something had entered that wasn't supposed to and something irreplaceable had been carried out on the other side.

He glanced at the hole in the ground.

Something irreplaceable had been carried out, all right.

Adam passed a hand before his eyes, swatting at the darkness that refused to go away. Then he glanced at his younger brother, Hoss, who stood on the other side of their father. Hoss' giant hand was anchored on their pa's shoulder, linking the two of them in despair. Adam sighed. _He_ stood apart as he always stood apart, driven by that _thing_ inside him that insisted he remain cool, collected – in control. He should offer that same touch – a touch of comfort to the man who gave him life. But he knew if he did that control would crack and then Pa would have another son to grieve over – and not just the one already lost, but a living _breathing_ dead man.

Another shovelful of dirt was taken up and tossed aside. The man was careless. Several clods tumbled back into the open grave to strike the top of the ugly pine box that had just been revealed; the one meant for a pauper that cradled a prince instead.

 _Thud._

Joe was dead.

 _Thud._

Stubborn, mule-headed, _damned_ - _if-I'll-listen-to-you-older-brother_ ; beautiful, brilliant, irreplaceable Joe.

 _Thud._

Joe. His kid brother who'd been so angry with him; who'd fled the ranch in a fit of blazing hot anger that drove all notion of _kin_ aside.

 _Thud._

Joe, who'd chosen strangers over his own, running away, disappearing, never to be seen again.

 _Thud._

Until now.

Adam shuddered as another shovelful of dirt hit the ground, some of it scattering and brushing his boots. Pa insisted once they knew. Adam breathed deep. Once they'd been _told_ what happened, Pa insisted. He had to see his son.

Had to touch Joe one last time.

Pa was looking down into the grave, at that damned pine box, as the man reached for the lid. Adam turned aside. _He_ couldn't. He didn't want to see, because he knew what he _would_ see. When he closed his eyes in the empty years to come, he wanted the image behind them to be his little brother laughing and snorting and fighting and shouting, not some bloated corpse with blackened lips and staring eyes.

God.

Joe...

Adam glanced over his shoulder at the tree where the ropes still dangled, cut in stark silhouette against the horizon. The Acting sheriff of Genoa was there, watching them, and about half of the citizenry of the town. They didn't know the name of Cartwright. They didn't know how impossible it was that his little brother had shot and killed the bank manager and robbed the bank, callously stealing their sweat and blood.

Blood. This was _his_ blood.

Joe was dead.

He was only fourteen.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe's cheek was resting on the bottom of that cherry coffin. Adam had found him and buried him properly thinking he was dead.

He couldn't blame him really. He hadn't been able to move or to say anything. There was no way older brother could have known he was alive. It was funny though, Adam should have heard his heart beating. He should have heard him breathing too. He was breathing real fast and the sound of it was echoing off the walls of his coffin and driving him mad. The only thing that kept him from screaming and shouting and pulling at his hair was the fact that he was too tired.

That, and the fact that mama was using the rhythm as she sung her tune.

 _If my boy will slumber,_

 _Angels without number_

 _Will draw near, so fair and bright,_

 _For they only come at night._

 _If my boy lie still in bed,_

 _God, too, will be pleased and glad,_

 _And will say, "I'll send to him_

 _All night long the loveliest dream."_

"I'm lyin' still, mama," Joe murmured. "Are you proud of me?"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Roy Coffee stood staring at one of the saddest sights he had ever seen in his fifty-plus years. No man should have to lose his son. _No_ father outlive one. Still, he'd seen _that_ time and again. Been through it with particular man too when he thought one of his boy's was gonna die after bein' shot or takin' an arrow.

The lawman swallowed over the bile that rose into his mouth.

But this...

Ben's youngest _lynched_ for a crime they knew sure as God was in his Heaven he hadn't committed, and then buried like the scum of the earth in a hasty unmarked grave.

It was a wonder the animals hadn't gotten him in the last twelve hours the dang thing was so shallow.

It was a wonder too that the fellows that did the lynchin' had taken along a pine box. Just one from the looks of what they'd found in the other two graves beside this one. He'd seen the result of lynchings where they had and where they hadn't brought a box. To his thinking, it had somethin' to do with the fact that these men were trailin' a boy. It also meant that someone in that there lynchin' party had a conscience, and that meant the feller might just break down and spill all he knew. He needed that. _Ben Cartwright_ needed that.

Justice needed to be done for Little Joe.

Roy glanced at the Cartwrights where they stood nearby. Hoss was holding onto his pa as the man who'd done the digging on the grave reached for the lid. Adam was looking away. He s'posed the boy couldn't stand to look on that lonely pine box buried a foot or two down that was now exposed to the sunrise.

A sunrise his little brother was never gonna see.

"Stop," Ben said, and everyone did. "I'll do it."

Three protests erupted at once.

"Ben..."

"Pa..."

"No, Pa, you can't..."

His old friend's jaw was set. Those black eyes flashed fired. "I said, _I'll_ do it. Now, get out of my way."

The man what had unearthed the coffin skedaddled up out of the grave quick as Jack Robinson. Ben stepped into it and then, for a moment, he lay his hand on the wooden surface. His eyes closed and his lips moved silently.

He was prayin'. Good God, Almighty! Ben was prayin'! He thought his boy had just been lynched, and he was _prayin'!_

"Pa, let me do it," Adam said quietly. He was beside his father now. So was Hoss. "You don't have to – "

"Yes, I _do_ ," he said without looking up. "I owe it to Joe."

The morning sun cast blood-red trails across the land. The late October air was heavy with rain just waitin' to fall. Somewhere a bird was singing and Roy could hear cattle lowing, roosters crowing.

Life went on.

Looking at Ben's haggard face as he reached for the pine lid, he changed that.

It did for some.

Adam steeled himself. He had one hand on Hoss' shoulder now. They'd changed places. It was Hoss who couldn't look now. The big man said he couldn't bear to be haunted by what he would see for the rest of his life. Hoss wanted to remember Joe laughing and smiling, riding too fast and sleeping too hard. _He_ found in the end he had to look. He had no choice.

As his father owed it to Joe, Adam owed it to his pa.

He heard his father gasp at the sight of the curly head. The corpse's hair was matted with mud and blood. It was hard to tell the color. The boy's neck was elongated and there was a deep ugly ligature mark around it. A trail of dried blood ran from the corpse's ears and nose, trailing down onto the filthy gray shirt he wore.

A stray thought took Adam from the scene. Grief nearly bent him double. He couldn't remember what Joe had been wearing when he last saw him. He couldn't remember! Drawing a deep breath Adam fought for control.

He thought it was a gray shirt, but he couldn't be sure and he held onto that.

The man in black watched as his father knelt and reached with exaggerated care for that curly head. He saw his hands tremble and he heard the older man draw in a sharp breath as the mottled face with its bulging eyes and blackened tongue was revealed.

Trembling visibly, their father turned his tear-streaked face upward. A sob escaped him.

"It's not Joe. It's _not_ Joe," he repeated. "Thank God!"

Adam felt Hoss tense and then his middle brother's frame relaxed to the point of falling. Adam crouched beside him. The big man was sobbing.

"Hoss?"

Hoss sucked in air and shook his head. "Go to Pa, Adam. Pa needs you. I'm fine."

Roy Coffee had beat him to it. Pa was sitting on the edge of the crude grave, his eyes closed, his shoulders slumped. Roy was on his knee beside him, a hand on Pa's shoulder, talking. After squeezing his brother's shoulder, Adam joined them.

He looked down into the grave again. It wasn't Joe, but it was _someone._

"Its Hoyle, isn't it?" he asked quietly.

His father nodded. When he spoke, his voice shook with barely controlled rage. "How could they do it? How could honest men hang a _boy?_ No matter what he'd done, Hoyle deserved justice."

The Genoa sheriff had come up to them. "I agree, Mister Cartwright. But if it will give you any comfort, the boy lied about his age. He was at least eighteen."

Their father was shaking his head. "That's still a boy. And even if he had been a man, there was no need. No need."

"The men that did this will pay, sir, I promise that," Hiram said and sounded as if he meant it. "I will not allow this kind of thing in _my_ town."

Their father rose at that. He walked unsteadily away from the grave, headed for Hoss. "Put the lid back on, Adam. Bury the poor boy again and mark the grave. We'll have the coffin moved later and place him somewhere respectful."

As he nodded, the man in black said, "Pa..."

It showed in his father's eyes. He already knew what he was going to ask. If Hoyle was in the grave –

Where was Joe?


	14. Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

He'd kind of held out for some kind of glowing fish. One time, he thought he'd seen one, but it vanished when he tried to catch it.

He _did_ try to catch it.

Didn't he?

Joe was awake, or at least he thought he was. He was having trouble telling what was a dream and what was reality. He'd used the tips of his fingers like feet on a ladder's rungs to pull himself up using the edge of the lockboxes until he was sitting again with his back against the door. He was completely sweat-soaked and panting like Cochise now after one of their free-flying flights. His head felt mighty funny too – kind of like it could explode – and there were a dozen or more church bells ringing in his ears.

Sally Simms was mighty pretty. She'd have liked one of those glowing fish if he could have caught it.

He'd seen her last summer at the church social. The wind had been riffling her hair and her thin white gown up was billowing up around her knees. He'd laughed when she caught him looking and tried to hold it down in the font, only succeeding in making it fly up higher in the back. His pa'd taught him to be a gentleman and so he'd looked away. He'd looked at the church steeple.

The bell was ringing.

Hop Sing was calling him in to supper. He was in the barn. He'd done all the dang work that Adam had set him and more and then, played out, taken a seat in the back of the last stall he'd mucked out. Tossing his head back, he'd been asleep in seconds.

Only to have that darned bell call him back.

Well, Hop Sing would have to wait. He wasn't hungry anyhow. And he was just too _doggone_ tired to drag his sorry frame up to the house. They could just come and find him.

Come...and find...

Pa.

Come. _Find me._

Joe blinked and forced his eyes open. For an instant – just a _second_ – he realized he wasn't falling asleep but was falling unconscious. He remembered now that he was trapped in a bank vault. He'd been trapped there for hours without any fresh air. While the reason he was in the vault eluded him, he knew he had to stay awake. Someone might come. Someone might _still_ come and if they did, he needed to be awake. He needed to be able to answer if someone called his name.

 _Joseph._

Joe's lean frame stiffened. "Pa?" he asked aloud.

 _Hang on, son. I'll find you. Wherever you are, I'll find you._

"Pa!" Joe rose up on his knees and banged on the vault door. "Pa! Pa! I'm here! Pa, you gotta hear me _! Pa!"_

Pa was there. He was just outside the door. Pa had come to save him, he knew it.

 _He knew it!_

With his chest heaving and tears running down his cheeks, the church bells ringing, his head fairly popping, and those dang glow fish swimming by, Joseph Francis Cartwright shouted and continued to bang on the unforgiving metal door until his knuckles ran red with his blood.

When he was unable to shout any longer he kept banging.

When he was no longer able to bang on the door, he cried.

Out of tears – out of hope.

He succumbed.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Joseph. Hang on, son. I'll find you. Wherever you are, I'll find you."

Ben Cartwright was standing on the porch of the sheriff's office staring at the bank building. After reburying Hoyle and the other outlaws, they'd returned to Genoa. They arrived just as the sunlight illuminated the town's wood and brick structures, including the sad and sorrowful city bank with its black wreath hung above the door. Sheriff Whitaker had taken them to his office so they could regroup and come up with a plan, and then left them to carry on his official business. The night before Whitaker had wired every lawman within a twenty mile radius of Genoa informing them of what had happened and asking them to keep an eye out for the robbers who had escaped. He was going to send a second wire, asking if there had been any sighting of DeLoyd Beaumont or a Weston McCloud. Names had been dropped during the robbery and McCloud's name was one of them.

Ben grimaced. DeLoyd he knew. He'd given him the run of his house for nearly a month and hired the man after that, much to his chagrin now that he knew he was a wanted man. Who this Weston McCloud was, he could only guess. It didn't really matter. All that mattered was that one or both had to know what had happened to Little Joe.

One or both of them could _have_ Joe.

Ben glanced at the chair on the porch behind him, nestled up against the office door, but remained standing. The Sheriff had left to round up men to form a posse. Hoss and Roy went with him. He and Adam had chosen to remain in town. Much as his feet itched to be on the trail of the men who could have his child, DeLoyd or Del most of all, he wanted – no, he had felt _compelled_ to remain in town. The older man sighed. He found himself in fact, for some inexplicable reason, drawn to thebank building itself. That was where he and Adam were going to begin their search as soon as his oldest son returned from talking to the woman who had incorrectly identified Joe as a bank robber. It seemed her husband would make it after all and so he'd felt it was proper for Adam to go to her and ask her what she remembered.

Ben frowned and ran a hand across his chin. Joseph. In front of the vault with a smoking gun in his hand; Lemuel Douglas dead at his feet.

What in the world had his boy gotten himself into?

The fact that there had been no ransom demand troubled him. If Del and this other man were trying to escape and had Joe with them, then why not use that to their advantage? No. In his heart, he believed his boy – alive _or_ dead – was somewhere in Genoa. Joseph might be hurt. The amount of bullet holes in the facade of the bank was unnerving. Little Joe might have crawled away injured from the robbery scene. His beautiful boy might be laying somewhere even now, alone, in filth and squalor, bleeding to death.

Calling out to his pa.

"Pa?"

Ben started out of his reverie. It was Adam. "Yes, son?"

"Sorry it took so long. I had to find someone who had a key to the bank. Since Lemuel died..."

The bank manager had been a good man and a good friend. His loss would be felt by many.

"I found the assistant manager," his son said as he joined him on the porch. "A man by the name of Burnett Clawson. He's going to meet us at the bank." Adam hesitated.

"Yes?"

"He doesn't know much, Pa. He was just hired last week Due to that, he doesn't know the bank all that well and he wasn't privy to the combination on the new vault."

Ben frowned. They had to check the vaults just in case. "What about the old one?"

"It was abandoned when they put in the new Chubbs safe, partly for security, but mostly due to the fact that it wasn't working. They had a dickens of a time operating the door. They'd actually gone to leaving it open so no one would get trapped in there."

The older man paled. "Did anyone check it after the robbery?"

Adam shook his head. "Burnett didn't say. I'm sure they did."

Ben's near-black eyes went to the bank. The robbery had happened the night before around six o'clock.

More than twelve hours before.

"There he is, Pa," his son said as he returned to the street.

A young man, about Adam's age, was coming toward them. His hair and clothing were askew as if he had thrown them on and hurried out the door without checking to see what he looked like. He was a good-looking man with a strong jaw and wide open eyes. His dark curly hair reminded Ben painfully of his missing son.

"Mister Benjamin Cartwright, I presume?" Burnett asked while extending a hand. "I'm sorry to hear about your son Joseph – "

"Yes, yes. Thank you. Now, I need to get into that bank."

"We searched it thoroughly the night of the robbery, sir. There was no one left in the building when we shut it down."

"Did you check the vaults?"

The young man paled. "No. I've just wired for the combination on the new vault, sir. We will hopefully have an answer within the hour. It took a lot of convincing for the company who supplied the safe to believe the request was legitimate. They had to be sure."

"I understand." Ben's eyes remained locked on the silent brick building. "What about the old vault?"

Burnett looked puzzled. "We swept the cellar. We knew one of the outlaws escaped that way."

"What about the old vault?" he repeated.

The young man frowned. "I didn't give it much thought."

"Was the door open or closed?"

Adam was staring at him, puzzled as well. "What is it, Pa?"

"Burnett. Answer me. Was the vault door _open or closed?"_

He knew his answer before the young man gave it words. Burnett's skin had gone to paste.

"It was closed."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hoss Cartwright stood beside his horse, waiting for the animal to take a drink. As he did, he balanced his hands on the saddle and looked back toward Genoa. The sun was halfway to noon, near done chasing off the chill of the night. Most times that sight would have brought a smile to his face. But not today.

Not with his baby brother still missing.

The big man couldn't really put into words the feelin' he'd had when his Pa'd stepped into that grave. It was all of the terrors he'd ever known wrapped up into one. As they rode to the edge of town, headed for the spot where the lynchin' had taken place, he'd tried to keep Joe's face in front of his eyes – Joe smiling, Joe smartin' off; Little Joe giggling and falling on the floor, laughing so hard the veins popped out in his forehead.

Tried, but failed.

He was old enough. He'd seen men hung before. He knew what a dead man's grin looked like where the teeth bit down on a tongue gone black as Hades, while above it the dead man's bloodshot eyes bulged out. He kept seeing Little Joe, his neck stretched out long and thin, his head snapping to the side –

Suddenly sick, Hoss moved off into the trees and lost what little was left of the food he had in him.

When he returned, it was to find Roy Coffee standing by Chubb waiting for him.

"You all right, son?" the older man asked.

Hoss nodded.

"Thinking about what _might_ have happened to your brother?"

Again, he nodded.

"Terrible thing, hanging, even when its needed." The lawman shook his head. "Too bad about that boy, Hoyle. Too bad."

Hoss paled. He was so focused on what had almost happened to Little Joe, that he'd near forgot it _had_ happened to Hoyle.

"What do you suppose drives someone like Hoyle to commit a crime?" he asked the sheriff.

"Hoyle? If he was eighteen or more, Hoss, he was old enough to make his own choices. Nothin' need _drive_ him to them"

"Yeah, but _why_ make that choice?"

"Could of been his brother." Sheriff Roy's smile was soft. "Younger brothers look to their older ones for their lead. Maybe Hoyle wanted to be like Del. Just like Little Joe wants to be like you and Adam."

"Joe ain't nothin' like me."

The lawman shook his head. "You can't see it, can you? He's kind, boy, just like you. Joe's got a big heart. Makes him too trusting." He paused. "He's kind of like you there, too. And your pa."

Sheriff Roy was right. They'd taken Del and Hoyle into their home because they assumed they were who they said they were. After all, Del had saved Joe's life.

Now, he might cost it.

"I hate to think what Little Joe felt when he found out Hoyle was usin' him," he said. "Joe thought of that boy as a friend."

"The one who trusts can't ever be betrayed, Hoss," the sheriff said kindly. "Just mistaken."

Hoss nodded. "Yes, sir."

The lawman eyed him. "You're still lookin' peaked, boy. You ready to ride yet?"

"I'm all right, Sheriff Roy," he said as he placed his foot in the stirrup. "Let's go find that pair. Hopefully Joe's with them and he's all right." Hoss drew a deep breath as he settled into the saddle and picked up the reins. Otherwise, I'll –"

"Otherwise, you'll do what, boy?"

Sheriff Roy was giving him that stare – the one that belonged to the lawman and not his father's friend.

"I'll mind myself and my temper, sheriff," Hoss said as he pressed his knees into Chubbs' side and started moving.

The big man wondered if the sheriff noticed.

He didn't promise.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was too late to call Hoss and Roy back. Hopefully they would find the men who had escaped.

Hopefully, _they_ were about to find Joe.

It was a race which of them reached the bank door first, him or his pa. For being the older of the two, Pa beat him there. Burnett was fumbling through the keys on a ring he had, trying to find the right one to open the door. When he found it, he tried, but the key scraped against the metal and never found its mark. Snatching it away, Adam took it, stuck it into the key hole, and then thrust the door open.

Again, his pa was quicker. Lantern in hand, the older man ran through the bank and down the back stairs and was on his way to the old vault before his own boots hit the cellar's brick hounds-tooth floor. As his father's knees hit the ground, he started calling.

"Joseph. Joseph? Are you in there, son? Can you hear me? It's Pa."

Burnett looked at him askance as he crossed to the coal chute and threw the trap door open so they had some light. "That door is more than a foot thick, Mister Cartwright."

"Joe will hear him," Adam said.

"He's likely to be unconscious by now – if he's even in there."

Adam drew in a breath. "Joe will hear him. If there's any way, Joe will hear his pa." He closed his eyes then. It wouldn't do him any good to call out to Joe. Two voices might be confusing. But there was nothing to stop him calling out to God.

 _God. Please. Let Joe be alive._

The silence as they waited was deafening. His pa crouched by the door, his fingers pale, stretched out on the dark metal surface as if he could divine by touch whether or not Joe was in there. Nothing else made sense really. Joe was missing. None of the telegrams had reported a boy with the men who had been spotted. The bank vault door that should have been open was closed.

He wanted to pray that his brother was in there, but at the same time, that was the last thing he wanted to do.

 _God. PLEASE. Let Joe be alive._

His father's hand shot out. His head came up. The older man looked at him and then returned his cheek to the heavy metal door.

"Joseph? Son? Was that you?"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He'd been warm and safe and lying in his mother's arms. She was singing again.

 _If my boy lie still in bed,_

 _God, too, will be pleased and glad,_

 _And will say, "I'll send to him_

 _All night long the loveliest dream."_

Joe stirred as she stopped abruptly. He looked up to find her smiling. _'C'est ton père'_ , Mama whispered. ' _Il est venu pour vous.'_

It was Pa. He'd come for him.

When he felt her start to release her hold on him, Joe panicked and clutched his mother's arm. "No, Mama," he rasped, his throat raw, "stay with me."

He felt her gentle touch on his cheek. Her lips caressed his brow. ' _Non, ma petit Joseph_. I must go. You must stay. Your _papa_ needs you.'

Joe shook his head. "Pa isn't here _. You_ are, mama. I don't have the strength..."

Her fingers released his arm. He felt her pull back.

Miserable, bereft, Joe screamed.

" _NO!"_

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Did you hear it?"

Adam nodded as his father turned a ghostly pale but hopeful face toward him. At least he _thought_ he had.

"You try," Pa said as he sat down and leaned his back against the vault.

Moving in, Adam put his ear against the door and called, "Joe! It's Adam. Hey, lazybones! What are you doing sleeping? Time to get up. Hop Sing's hopping mad!"

This time he heard his brother's voice, clear as a bell. Well, a muffled bell.

"Don't...want to."

He and his father had to hold each other up.

"Joseph," his father said as soon as he was able. "Boy, how are you?"

"Go away...want to...sleep..."

Adam couldn't help it. He grinned. "That's definitely Joe."

The grin faded with Joe's next words.

"...want to...go...with Mama..."

He saw every muscle in his father's frame go rigid. In a heartbeat the older man was on his feet and bearing down on the bank's assistant manager.

" _Open that door!"_

Burnett paled and took a step back. "I can't Mister Cartwright. Even if I had the combination, the locking mechanism is broken – "

"I am not interested in excuses!" Adam turned from the door to watch his father take a deep breath to regain control. The next time the older man spoke it was with that voice that had built an empire and kept three very unruly boys alive in a deadly land over a period of nearly three decades. "Well, then, _find_ someone who can!"

"It's a Chubb...sir," Burnett stuttered. "There's no way."

Adam eyed the vault. He hated to leave his brother's side for even an instant in case Joe called out again. Still, he knew something his father didn't.

"Pa?" he said as he walked to his side.

The older man rounded on him. "What?"

"I read it in a paper at the Palace the other day. A man got caught in one of these vaults recently. They managed to get it open. They had to...blow the safe."

Those black eyes pinned him. "Did he survive?"

Honesty. That's what this man demanded – even when it was brutal. "No. But he was locked in over two days. It was the weekend."

"Blow the safe? You mean like those men did at the old bank?"

Adam took heart from that. If it had worked once...

"Yes."

His father's eyes were on the vault. "But we don't know where your brother is. It sounds like he's right by the door."

Adam nodded. He'd thought of that as well. "We'll have to get him to move."

"What if Joseph is unconscious and _can't_ move?"

The question hung in the air between them.

He shook his head at last. "I don't know Pa. But we can't leave him in there much longer."

His father's eyes mirrored his emotions – hope, determination, fear, and then a reach for faith. His jaw tight, the older man nodded. Turning to Burnett Pa said, "Take Adam to where he can get what he needs."

Adam frowned. "Pa. No." He swallowed hard over his own fear. "You want me...?"

His father's hand rested on his shoulder. "You've done it before, in the mines. And you're an engineer, Adam. You'll know best how and where to set the charges to keep your brother from getting...damaged."

"Maybe someone in town has more experience?" Adam turned to Burnett who was shaking his head.

"Not that I know of. And I wouldn't know how to find them if they did."

He'd begun to tremble. "Pa. What if – what if something goes _wrong?_ What if I...kill..." He couldn't finish it.

His father's grip intensified. The older man waited until he met his resolute stair.

"Joseph is dead already if we don't try."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

With what little strength he had, Joe groped the darkness searching for his mother. She'd gone away and left him alone and he didn't understand why. He'd heard Pa calling him, but Pa was so far away and he was _so_ scared. Scared to be alone. Scared to be in the dark that he used to think of as a friend.

Scared he was going to die with no one touching him.

As he lay there, quietly sobbing, he heard his pa call him again.

"Joseph. Joseph?"

At first Pa's voice was soft. It sounded like it did when the older man used it to wake him up during a sickness to give him medicine. Then it changed. It became the voice pa used when he'd done something wrong. When he'd better pay attention and hop to, otherwise there'd be a switch waiting.

"Joseph! Boy! Answer me. Answer me now!"

He tried to lick his lips. They were swollen and cracked. At first nothing came out. Then he managed a strangled, "Pa..."

"Little Joe!"

Joe turned his head so he was facing the door. "Pa?"

This time pa's voice was that one he used when he found you laying in a ditch with a twisted ankle or hiding out in the barn, 'cause you were scared you'd get in trouble.

"Son. You have to listen to me. You're trapped in a bank vault. We have to get you out before you run out of air. The only way is to...blow the safe's door off." There was a pause, like his pa had taken in a big gulp. "You need to get as far away from the door as you can. Find something. Put it over your head. Joseph! Do you hear me?"

Yeah, he heard him.

Joe's eyes drifted to the back of the vault. It was about a million miles away.

"Can't..." was all he managed. It took too much effort to shake his head.

"You _must!"_ His pa sounded desperate now. "Son, I know you're so tired you think you can't move. Maybe you can't breathe right. But, son, you're alive! You have to fight!"

Fight? He'd of snorted if he'd had the energy.

"Joseph?"

"Yeah, Pa..."

His pa's voice was steady. He kept talking. "Joe, you remember that little black foal you loved so much? The one who almost didn't make it? You remember, don't you, sitting with her and talking to her and telling her she couldn't give up no matter what?"

She'd been a beauty. All black with a star on her nose. He loved black horses. They were like midnight come to life.

"I...remember..."

"You kept talking to her until you _willed_ her to chose life, to move. To get up on her _feet_ and move. Joe, listen to me, son. You have to _move!"_

His muscles spasmed as he reached out with his hand, his fingers groping for something to grab hold of.

"Joseph?"

"I'm...trying...Pa..." he breathed even as the tips of his fingers found the seam between the pine boards that made up the floor.

"What was that, Joe?"

He didn't have any more energy for talking. His pa would just have to get mad at him for not answering. What energy he had was being channeled into those fingers. They'd moved on now with a will of their own, creeping from the first seam to seek the second. The floor was rough. No use using good lumber for the bottom of a basement vault. His knuckles were red already and now his fingers and chest were bleeding from the splinters being driven into them. Still he kept crawling, his progress agonizingly slow, inching his way across the rough floor toward the back of the vault where his pa had ordered him to go. Finally, his fingers struck metal and he reached up, taking hold of one of the metal bars that made up the cage door.

A triumphant smile spread across Joe's cracked lips.

"Made it, Pa," he gasped.

Then his fingers let go and he struck the floor.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben turned from the vault and rose as his eldest son came into the basement followed by several other men including the sheriff and Burnett. He'd been bent so on Joseph hearing him and getting his son to move away from the door, that he hadn't realized what a strain he was under. When he stood, Ben found his knees were next to jelly. Adam came to his side quickly and offered his shoulder. He nodded his thanks as he accepted.

After a moment the older man said, "Thanks, son. I think I can manage."

His eldest boy raised his black brows and pursed his lips. "Really?"

Ben inclined his head toward the men gathered in the room. There were two new ones. "Who's this?"

"You know Burnett and Hiram. The tall one is Jasper Smith. He owns the hardware store. And this is Milton Hanks." Adam paused. "Milton's the town doctor."

He should have known. Hanks was an older man with graying hair, wearing a conservative brown suit and tie. He saw the bag now in his hand.

"How long has the boy been in the vault?" Milton asked as he came to their side.

It was the sheriff who answered. "Near as we can tell, from the time the robbery ended." Hiram paused and his voice fell. "Near thirteen hours."

The doctor blinked. His crisp blue eyes narrowed. " _Thirteen_ hours?"

"At least."

The older man drew in a deep breath. "Then for God's sake, wait no longer! Get him out of there!"

"Pa?"

He'd been looking at the older man, gauging what the physician's violent reaction meant for his youngest son. He turned now toward his oldest.

"Yes?"

"I've got what I need, Pa." He gestured to Smith, who'd brought with him gunpowder, fuses, and cord. The shop owner had brought as well several small cotton bags and tape. "I think its best to blow the hinges to take the door off. Hopefully the sideways blast will keep anything from flying inward where it might...hit Joe."

With force enough to kill.

Ben looked at the materials in the man's hands and then at the locked vault. Joe couldn't hold out much longer. These lethal things could mean life or death for his son.

It was up to God which it was.

"Do it," he said with a nod.


	15. Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

Hoss and Roy were about three hours out from Genoa when they found what they were looking for. The sun was hidden by clouds and the fresh round of rain that had threatened earlier was starting to fall. It was a soft rain this time though – female, the Indians would have called it since it was a gentle one, not driving and hard like the male rain of the night before. This was the kind of rain that brought life.

'Cept it couldn't do nothin' to bring it back to the man they done found.

Hoss squatted on his hind quarters and placed a hand on Del Beaumont's chest, or what was left of Del's chest.

Del had a hole done blown straight through him.

"Ain't no honor among thieves," Roy Coffee said, unknowingly echoing the words their father often spoke.

"You s'pose that other man, that Weston McCloud, got the drop on him?" It was hard to believe. He'd seen Del shoot. The man was fast.

Sheriff Roy shook his head. "Probably bushwhacked him. The skunk probably called him out to talk and gunned him down or some such thing."

As he stood Hoss thought about all the times they'd sat around the table with Del and Hoyle, laughing and talking about the day, sharing, like he and his brothers did. Now both of them were dead. And for what?

Money.

"Why wasn't it enough?" he asked.

"Why wasn't 'what' enough, Hoss?"

It was hard to put into words, since he didn't exactly know 'what' it was he and his brothers had. A home, he guessed. Each other.

Love.

"It's just, Sheriff Roy, I don't understand why them havin' each other wasn't enough. Why'd they want to go and rob banks? Why'd Del and Hoyle want to take other people's money instead of earnin' their own honest-like?"

He heard a gurgling cough and then the word, "Stupidity"

Hoss spun. It was Del. He wasn't dead.

Well, not quite.

Kneeling beside the dying man, the big man placed a hand on his shoulder. "You shouldn't oughta talk, Del."

"I'm...dead already," the blond man said as blood trickled out his lips and down his chin.

"What happened?" Sheriff Roy asked as he knelt on Del's other side. "Can you tell us, son?"

Pain flickered through the dying man's eyes, proving he was still able to feel. "Hoyle and me...Jess and Parker...we ran. Got to...the edge of...town and found...men...waiting..." They waited too as he drew a shuddering breath. "..bastard Weston...betrayed...us... Posse was...here..."

"How'd you get away?" Hoss asked.

A sad smile lifted the corner of Del's blood-streaked lips. "Hoyle. Damn fool...kid...spooked my...horse. Sent it...running." His eyes locked on the sheriff's. "S'pose...he's in...jail now."

Without hesitation Sheriff Roy nodded. "Hoyle's safe. No one's gonna hurt him now."

Del sort of nodded and his lips curled with a faint smile. "By...time...I got the horse...under control...was half mile away. Was...going to...turn back." He coughed and the sound rattled in his chest. "Saw...Weston. Chased him." The dying man coughed again even as a snort blew more blood out of his nose. "Wasn't...thinking clearly...mad...worried...

"Stupid."

"Weston ambushed you?"

Again, that little half-nod.

The lawman exchanged a glance with him. Then the sheriff asked, "Where's McCloud now?"

"Headed..." Del sucked in air. "Headed back...toward...town."

Then he went silent forever.

Hoss rose to his feet. Sheriff Roy turned with him back toward Genoa.

"Now why would that there citified varmint want to head back to town?" Sheriff Roy asked. "Is McCloud just plain loco? That town's out for his blood."

There was only one reason he could think of. Little Joe wasn't here. Little Joe who could identify Weston and appear as a witness in court to convict him.

That meant Joe was in Genoa somewhere.

He'd bet all the money he had, Weston McCloud was there too.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben had moved back as Adam insisted. His son had finally set the charges after a full ten agonizing minutes of calculations. His eldest, with his usual calm demeanor, had reminded him it would do no good to get Little Joe out of the vault if they managed to send a two ton door crashing into him in the process. Adam had to make sure that only the hinges would blow and that they would blow so that the door was pushed to the side instead of _into_ the vault. It was a delicate business and Ben knew that more than Joe's life depended on a successful outcome.

Most likely so did Adam's sanity.

The older man ran a trembling hand over his face to wipe away the sweat beading there. It was rolling off his forehead and into his eyes. Adam was little better. Even in the dim light of the cellar he could see his eldest son's skin had a sheen to it. He'd have preferred to shoulder the responsibility himself. He'd have set the gunpowder charges if he'd felt competent. Unfortunately, he didn't. He was counting on his son's engineering skills to win the day. Both of them had watched it done in the mines. Neither of them was a blast expert.

Still, Adam was closer to being one than he would ever be.

As his son crouched beside him, they exchanged glances. There were no words. Just a look that said it all.

Adam turned then to the three men waiting behind them. They'd upturned tables and moved carts and old cabinets of lockboxes, setting the obstacles between them and the door in the hope that, when it blew off the hinges, they would be protected should he have miscalculated and it decided to fly their way. His son's hazel eyes went to the assistant bank manager first. For all his youth, Burnett had insisted on staying, saying that it was his responsibility to make sure the bank was represented since it was their vault his son was trapped. Next Adam nodded to the store owner. He'd agreed to stay too. Jasper was a veteran of the War with Mexico and had offered to assist Doctor Hanks if necessary. He'd served in field hospitals, he said, his voice grim. He'd seen it all.

Last of all his son turned to the physician. Grim only began to describe the look on the man's face.

"Get that boy out of there now!" Milton ordered through teeth gritted hard.

Adam nodded. He turned back toward the vault. As he went to strike a match to light the fuse line, Ben stopped him. Holding his son's gaze, he took it from him and struck it himself.

"Together," he said.

And lit the cord.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe couldn't see her, but he could hear his mama singing again. He was happy she'd come back. He was pretty sure he was sick and, whenever he was sick, she'd sit on the side of his bed and sing and that singing would chase the pain away.

It was doing it now.

He hardly felt any pain anymore. His head and heart weren't pounding like they'd been before and the church bells had stopped. He was still breathing fast though. In fact, he sounded like a little puppy standing on its hind-quarters, eager for a treat.

Seeing mama would be a treat.

Closing his eyes, Joe thought again of his brothers. They were gonna be mighty upset if he went home with Mama. He felt worst of all about Adam. Adam was gonna blame himself. He was good at that. He'd been trying hard to get his older brother to understand that he was growing up and that he was old enough now to be responsible for the choices he made, good or bad.

Joe chuckled weakly.

Boy, that last one had been a humdinger!

Then there was Hoss. Hoss would cry and he couldn't stand to see Hoss cry.

And Pa. Pa would go all stoic like older brother. He'd hold it all in until his sadness burst through like a gully-washer, swamping him.

He couldn't do that to Pa.

He couldn't do it to Adam or Hoss either.

"Mama," the dying boy whispered, even as a sizzling sound penetrated the darkness of a mind shutting down.

"Sorry... You're just gonna have to wait..."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

On the street outside of the shuttered bank, with its black tape and wreath, the citizens of Genoa stopped and looked around amazed. They paused as well in the livery and the mercantile and in the hotels and dress shops as ceiling lights swung and items danced off of shelves; as the solid ground rolled under their feet. Most of them ran to catch hold of something, waiting on the aftershock from a quake that never was.

Below, in the cellar of the new Genoa City Bank, debris rained down on the men who crouched behind the barricade as a huge cloud of dust and smoke billowed out from the area of the vault, rising toward the ceiling – some, but not all of it fleeing through the open chute door that led to the outside. Adam found he was holding his father's hand. Their eyes met as they waited for the smoke to clear enough that they could see what their choice to blow the safe had brought – freedom or death for the boy they both loved.

His father's jaw tightened as he released his hand. The older man closed his eyes briefly – Adam knew it was in prayer – and then he rose to his feet. For a second Pa seemed lost. Then he shouted.

He had to shout. He could barely hear.

"Adam! I can see your brother! I can see Joe!"

Faster than was sensible the older man began to crawl over the twisted remnants of the metal lockboxes and shelves that separated him from his youngest son. Pa's sleeve caught on an upturned bit of metal. He ripped it loose. Another grabbed at his pants leg in passing. His pa thrust it out of his way, cutting his hand in the process. The older man ignored the blood.

Every fiber of Benjamin Cartwright's sizeable frame was bent toward reaching Little Joe.

Adam cast a glance at the doctor, ignored his sympathetic but bleak look, and took off after his father.

The air was thick enough to choke. Adam lifted his shirt over his mouth as he moved through the debris and stepped over the mangled wreckage of the vault door. It had blown both out and to the left as intended. Still, fragments of metal had been driven into the vault. He could see some of them embedded in the sides of the wooden cases that held the lockboxes.

If one of them had hit Joe...

His father was kneeling in the back of the vault near the cage door. His back was to him. He couldn't see his brother.

"Pa?"

His father stiffened. He glanced at him. He didn't shake his head, but he didn't nod it either.

 _Do something, Pa!_ his brain screamed. _Say something!_

Then the words came.

"He's alive, Adam."

Relief flooded through him. Then his father added.

"Barely."

The doctor had his shoulder and was pushing him aside. "Let me through!" Milton commanded.

Adam stepped back to let the older man pass. At the same time his father rose with Little Joe in his arms. Pa was wearing a pale blue shirt.

Joe was just as blue, but paler.

"We need to get him out of here and up where there's clean air," Doctor Hanks ordered as he lifted his brother's lids and touched his cold skin. "Never mind if he's hurt," he added at his father's look, "he'll die of cyanosis if we don't get some oxygen into him. Its been too long."

With that cryptic remark, the physician led the way out of the vault.

It was almost like being a man who had been trapped in a mine and was suddenly freed. When they stepped out onto the street and into the daylight Adam was almost blinded. The air was sweet. It smelled of rain newly fallen. All around them were dozens of people looking as if they were waiting for something to happen. It took a moment and then he had it. It almost made him laugh. Almost.

They thought there'd been an earthquake and were waiting for another. The citizens of Genoa thought the safe blowing had been an act of God.

Adam ran a hand over his face as he nearly dissolved.

It had been.

God had brought Joe forth out of the belly of the whale.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The doctor quickly commandeered a wagon with a clean bed and ordered Ben to lay his boy in it. Then he ordered him to get out of his way. The older man knew from experience that as much as he wanted to be close to this son, who had been rescued from the grave a _second_ time, the physician needed room to do what he had to do in order to save Joseph's life.

If he hadn't seen the boy's chest slowly rising and falling, he would have thought that what he'd picked up and carried was a corpse. Joseph's skin was pale as the gray day. His lips and nails were blue. And most frightening of all, he was completely still. Joseph was never still.

Something was _very_ wrong with the world.

Milton Hanks shouted. He was leaning over Joe, opening his son's shirt; laying his head on the boy's chest. When he looked up, all hope was gone.

"He isn't breathing."

Ben's heart skipped a beat. He glanced at Adam who looked sick and then vaulted into the wagon bed and thrust the doctor aside. Taking his son's cold hand in his own, Ben stroked the boy's hair, his cheek; he touched the place over his son's heart and felt...

Yes.

A faint beat. _Faint._

None.

"Joseph," Ben said softly, stroking that curly hair and leaning in close to the boy's ear. "Joseph, it's your Pa. Listen to me, son. You have to fight. Remember what I told you about that little foal? She's all grown up now. She _won_ her battle. Son, you have to _win_ yours. Fight, Joseph. _Fight_ for me!"

He wanted to take the boy and shake him. He didn't know what else to do. A glance at the doctor told him they were past desperation. After all, if the boy was going to die, what would it hurt?

Catching his son by his arm, he shook him gently. "Joseph. It's your father. Joseph, breathe, boy!"

The doctor hovered close by. "You've got maybe four minutes, Mister Cartwright," he said, his tone clinical. "After that even if you revive him there will be brain damage."

Adam was in the wagon now. His son's hazel eyes locked on his. Ben staggered back as Adam took his place.

His oldest boy was angry. More angry than he had ever seen him before.

"Joe, you wake up, you hear me!" Rarely seen tears fell from Adam's eyes as he took hold of the collar of Joe's gray shirt with both hands. "You get up you... You wake up you good-for-nothing layabout! Get up and get to work! You hear me!" And then, Adam did what he hadn't had the heart to do. He pulled his brother's limp form up off of the wagon bed and shook him so hard the curls bounced on Joe's pallid forehead. " _God,_ Joe! Wake up! You have to wake up! Joe! _Don't you dare die on me!"_

The street was utterly silent. It seemed at that moment that Ben heard the angels sigh.

Or maybe.

Just _maybe_ it was Joe.

His son's blue lips parted. Joseph's rich green eyes opened. They were unfocused and shot with red, but they opened.

Ben didn't even mind when the first word that passed between them wasn't _his_ name.

Joe breathed.

"Adam..."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He had never been so exhausted in all of his life.

Adam Cartwright practically fell to the board walk. He didn't remember climbing out of the wagon where Joe lay. Maybe he didn't. Maybe he was carried.

More likely he fell.

However he got there it was about all he could do to manage to drop his head between his knees before the lights went out. Even so, for a second or two, he saw nothing but black. He stayed there, locked in that position for he had no idea _how_ long, until he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. When he looked up he saw his father. The older man smiled wanly and then dropped beside him.

"Aren't we a pair?" Adam murmured.

His father nodded.

"Joe?"

The older man's near-black eyes went to the wagon. His jaw was tight. "As well as can be expected."

"Meaning?"

"Your brother is a long way from being out of the woods, son. He went almost too long without air. The doctor's ready to move him. Milton says we need to bathe him as quickly as possible and get him into fresh clothes."

Adam frowned. "Why is that?"

"Something about the air in the vault. It can cling to a man, continue to make him sick. He says we have to strip your brother bare and soap him from head to toe."

Adam let a slight smile curl his lips. "Good thing Joe's out cold."

His father laughed. He seemed grateful for the release, though he sobered quickly enough. "Once he's cleaned up there's not a lot to be done. He needs oxygen most of all. We have to make sure he...well...he keeps breathing."

"Is that all?"

"No. He'll have to be monitored for a few days. His heart may have been weakened. He could develop pneumonia. There might be...convulsions as a result. Maybe even epilepsy."

"God..."

"Yes, son. _God_. God led us to your brother. God has seen Joseph out of that vault, and _He_ will see him through."

Adam lifted an eyebrow. "You have His personal promise on that? Do you, Pa?"

The older man clapped him on the shoulder and then rose to his feet.

"I have His Word."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben was sitting at Joseph's side, keeping watch and nodding, when a commotion in the hotel lobby brought him to his feet. The manager had graciously given them a room close to the main staircase so Doctor Hanks could come and go with ease. He'd been in to examine Joseph about a half-hour before.

Nothing had changed.

With a concerned glance at his quiescent boy, Ben crossed the room and opened the door only to find his gentle giant of a son barreling down the hallway as if nothing – God included – could stop him. Hoss halted just outside the door, breathless, hopeful...hurting.

"Pa? They said you found Joe? Pa, is he all right?" Hoss' sky-blue eyes were wet with tears as they went to the open door. "I mean, you got him in a room. He's gonna make it, ain't he, Pa?"

Ben laid a hand on the shoulder of Inger's son. "Your brother is sleeping. He's alive. I'm afraid I can't say much more yet, but that's enough for now. Joseph is alive."

Hoss' eyes crinkled with pain. "The sheriff, well, he said you found him." The big man's voice squeaked – _really_ squeaked. "Little Joe was trapped in the bank vault? Since yesterday night?" Hoss sucked in air to steady himself. "Pa, you didn't answer me. Is Joe gonna be all right?"

Hoss was well aware of what happened to the victims of cave-ins; how most suffocated to death. But his son knew as well there were others who survived – and who were never right again.

He squeezed his son's fleshy shoulder. "We can only look to God."

Those blue eyes were searching the room behind him. "Can I sit with Little Joe, Pa? I mean, I won't disturb him or nothin'."

Ben smiled. "Go ahead. Disturb him. Let Joseph _know_ you're there. Talk to him, son. You're close. Maybe he'll hear you and come back."

As Hoss pushed past him and entered the room, Ben heard Adam's voice drifting up the stairs. His oldest had gone to talk to the sheriff. From the sound of it, he'd found him and another lawman along the way. Ben recognized Roy Coffee's voice as well.

"It ain't over, Adam," he heard his old friend say as he descended the stairs.

"What isn't over, Roy?" Ben asked, drawing their attention.

All three looked guilty. Apparently they hadn't decided yet whether to share what they were talking about with him or not.

" _What_ isn't over?" he asked again as he came to stand beside them.

Roy looked nervous. "Did Hoss tell you?"

He looked from the sheriff to his eldest. "Tell me what?"

"Del's dead, Pa," Adam said. "Hoss and Roy found him just outside of town with a bullet in his gut."

The older man pursed his lips and sighed. Such a waste. _Both_ gone. "Who shot him?" He turned to the lawman. "You, Roy?"

"No, Pa. It wasn't Roy. It was Weston McCloud." Adam's hazel eyes sought his. "Weston's still on the loose."

It didn't take a pen and a piece of paper to spell out what that meant. "Does McCloud know your brother survived?"

"There's no way of knowin', Ben," Roy said, his voice apologetic. The lawman's gaze shot to the stairs. "Who's with Little Joe?"

"Hoss." There was no need to worry so long as Hoss was there. He'd break the weasel of a man in half if Weston dared to even look in Joseph's direction.

"I've got a search party out looking for McCloud, Mister Cartwright," Hiram Whitaker said. "Trouble is, anybody who met him can't quite recall what he looks like. They all say he was about as ordinary as it gets. Middle height, middle weight, middle-aged, middling brown hair. Nothing distinguishing about him other than a scar above his brow."

Such was the face of a monster.

"What about the witnesses at the robbery? The young woman, for one, who remembered Joe."

"Jenny? She was pretty scared and her attention was on her husband."

"Did her young man pull through?"

Hiram nodded. "Jack'll be fine. Jenny saw Weston, but only once when bullets were flying and the smoke was rising. She said the same thing. Muddy brown hair, ordinary-looking." The sheriff turned and indicated the bustling dining room of the hotel. "He could be sitting here pretty as a jaybird and we wouldn't know." The lawman sought his gaze and held it. "Mister Cartwright, until we find him, you can't leave your son alone for a minute. Jenny might have an idea of what McCloud looks like. I doubt it would hold up in court. Your son is the only one left who could positively identify him."

He knew it. Even if – _when_ – Joe recovered, it wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam watched his father head for the front door of the hotel. The older man had said he needed a breath of fresh air. Knowing his pa that was just an excuse to find some quiet place to petition his God for Little Joe's life. He'd found him before on his knees in the middle of the stable, and one time, in the bath house. Anywhere that was away from the hustle and bustle of an active ranch. Adam smiled at the memory. Marie was Catholic and her prayer time was non-negotiable. He'd found her once fully clothed and on her knees when he'd opened the door to the privy.

She'd blushed and laughed, and then said it was the only place she could find where she was sure no men would bother her.

Adam took hold of the railing and slowly ascended the stairs, headed for the room where his little brother lay. They'd brought Joe out of the darkness of the vault that could have been his tomb, but in some ways he was still in there.

It was eerie to see Joe so quiet and still.

As he came to the door Adam hesitated before entering. Finding a chair in the hall he sat in it and considered the last few months. He'd tried to convince himself that he'd handled Joe right. That he _had_ to ride his obstinate little brother hard in order to keep him safe, in order to make him into a man. The truth was... Well, the truth was that _was_ the truth. At times. At other times it was convenient lie. The truth was he'd let other things become more important than his brother. Meeting a deadline. Impressing the hands with his knowledge.

Impressing the _businessmen_ who thought he wasn't fit to fill his father's shoes.

Joe wasn't him. Joe was...well, Joe. His little brother needed other people around him almost as much as he needed their approval. Joe lived on touch and on a kind word. He thrived when he was complimented and withered with correction. Adam shook his head. He knew it, and _still_ he corrected him. Still, he sought to tame him, to _change_ him.

To break Joe's spirit.

With a deep sigh, the black-haired man leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

God, was he _so_ selfish?

"Adam..."

Opening them he found his giant of a brother standing in the hall. Hoss was looking at him like he read every thought in his head.

"How's Joe?" he asked, straightening up.

"I ain't never seen little brother so quiet, Adam. He ain't moved a pinch."

"He's been through a lot," he said as he ran a hand over his stubbled cheek. With a snort, he added, "We all have."

"You done good gettin' him out of that vault."

"You mean I managed not to kill Joe or us?"

"Adam." Hoss shook his head. "You never was one to take a compliment."

He shrugged. "No, I guess not." Adam stood and looked toward the door. "You want me to keep watch?"

Hoss' look was dark. "You know about McCloud, then?"

"That he's on the loose and most likely gunning for Joe? Yes."

"Ain't little brother been through enough!" the big man declared.

Adam ran a hand along the back of his neck. "I imagine McCloud can't outrun the law for long. Every deputy and half the citizenry of the town is looking for him. Remember what they did to Hoyle and the other bank robbers."

"I cain't forget," his gentle giant of a brother replied.

Moving close to him, Adam touched his arm. "Go see if you can find Pa. I think he's probably needing someone about now. I'll watch Joe."

Hoss nodded. He touched his hand and then moved quickly down the stairs.

Adam's weary eyes followed him and then he stepped into his little brother's room.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Down the hall to the right, near the laundry chute, a middle-size, middle-aged, middle-minded man lingered. He'd gone to the hotel's lower levels and stolen clothes from the employee's wardrobe room. He 'd changed his clothes and looked like he belonged. No one would suspect him if he stopped outside a door and knocked, or stepped _inside_ a room to inquire if anything was needed. No one would care if he went to a window to make certain it was secure and perhaps left it open an inch.

No.

No one at all


	16. Chapter 15

FIFTEEN

Adam caught himself nodding. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and lifted his head. He'd fallen asleep in the chair by Joe's bed. Twisting, he looked out the window. It was dark. They'd found Joe around six or seven in the morning. Twelve, maybe thirteen hours before.

Twelve hours. Half a day.

What a difference it could make.

Rising, he leaned over his little brother and repeated the current ritual. He pressed his ear to Joe's chest and then let two fingers hover over the boy's lips. That was the only way he knew his brother's heart was still beating and Joe was still breathing. Since saying his name that morning on the street, Little Joe hadn't said a word. His color was better. The blue was gone from his lips and fingernails, but it seemed Joe's life and vitality had gone with it. He'd been in the room along with his father the last time Doctor Hanks visited. The older man said his brother might remain comatose for some time.

Maybe forever.

Joe. Still.

Forever.

It would have been kinder to let him die.

Adam screwed his face up, denying the tears that threatened to fall, and walked to the window. As he did, a knock came at the door. Puzzled, he crossed the room and opened it to find one of the hotel security guards standing in the hall. The man was of average height and had a hat pulled down over his forehead.

He was wearing a gun.

"Checking on the young man, sir. Is all well?"

Adam nodded absentmindedly. "As well as can be expected."

"Would you like me to inspect the locks on the windows and doors?"

He frowned. "Did someone send you?"

"No, sir," the man replied. "Just doing my duty. I walk the floors every night. I heard, well, that there might be some trouble and thought you'd like to make sure."

"Heard?"

"I spoke with Hiram when he came by earlier."

"Oh. I see." Adam hesitated to let anyone into Joe's room, especially someone who was armed. "I think we're fine."

"As you will, sir. I'll check back again come the end of my rounds to make sure."

"I doubt I'll change my mind."

He tipped his hat. "As I said, sir, as you will."

A moment later the security guard was gone.

Adam closed the door after him and returned to the chair by Joe's side. Maybe he had been foolish. They were in a hotel, after all. There were literally dozens of people moving up and down the halls and lingering on the streets outside. Rising, he went to the window and checked the lock himself. It seemed secure. With a frown, he went to the door and checked it too. As he did, there was a knock.

For some reason, it made him hold his breath.

"Adam, it's your father. Let me in."

Relieved, he turned the lock and opened the door. "Pa. Am I glad to see you."

The older man was instantly on the alert. "Is something wrong?"

"No. It's just, well, I'm jumping at shadows. I think I need to sleep for a little while."

His father's eyes went to the still form on the bed. "Has your brother stirred?"

He shook his head. "No."

Adam watched as the older man went to the chair and took a seat. Once there he reached out and took Joe's hand in his own, rubbing his thumb over a red spot Adam had missed. Using the other one, his father lovingly brushed the curls back from his brother's forehead. "Doctor Hanks thinks Joseph went too long without oxygen. He...tested him..." His father drew a breath. "Your brother responded to a needle being stuck in his hand. He mumbled something and his muscles tensed, like he...like he wanted to get away."

"That's good, isn't it?" he asked with hope.

His father turned eyes black, not from nature, but with fear on him. "The doctor thinks your brother is in a vegetative state and won't ever wake again."

The words were out before he could stop them. "Doctor Hanks isn't God."

His father looked startled. "I don't think he claims to be."

Adam scowled. "Sorry, Pa. It's just, Milton doesn't know Joe. If anyone can beat the odds – "

"It's your brother." His father smiled wearily at him. "I completely agree. Still, we have to prepare ourselves. Hanks is a man of science."

"And you're a man of _faith_ , Pa." Adam's voice was quiet. "I know which _you_ would tell me was stronger."

His father leaned forward and planted a kiss on his brother's forehead and then rose. He rounded the bed and faced him. "Son," he said quietly, 'have I told you how proud I am of the man you've become?"

Adam was taken aback. "Pa, how can you say that?" He indicated his motionless brother. " _Look_ at what happened when you left me in charge."

"I know you did what you thought was best."

"But I didn't, Pa. I didn't!" Shame drove back the tears that threatened to fall. "I was angry. I said things I shouldn't have said. I _drove_ Joe away!"

"And I suppose your brother just stood there and said nothing to provoke you?" his father asked quietly.

"Joe..." Adam stopped. A little smile touched his lips. "Of course. Joe stood there like a little angel and nodded his head."

"Exactly." His father reached out and cupped his cheek with his hand. It was a familiar gesture he employed with Joe all the time, but seldom with him. The fact that he did it said more than his words. "Your brother chose to run away from home. Whatever drove him to that choice, Joseph still made it. No one forced him." His father paused as if in pain. "If your brother regains consciousness, he and I will have a lot to talk about."

Adam covered his father's hand with his own. "When, Pa. _When_."

The older man nodded wearily. "When."

A knock on the door made them both look toward the hall. Adam went to it, unlocked and opened it. Hoss was standing outside.

"How's Joe?" he asked.

Adam sniffed. "The same. Sorry to say."

"I thought I'd sit with him a bit, if it's okay. That young lady from the bank, the one whose husband was shot, she's downstairs. Says she wants to talk to Pa."

The older man nodded. "Adam, I'd like you with me. Hoss, you stay with Joe. Don't leave him alone. Not for a _minute."_

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben gripped the railing tightly as he quickly descended the stairs. Neither he nor his boys had had any real sleep in the last twenty-four hours and it was telling. His mind, usually sharp, was not only fatigued but clouded with unwanted words – comatose, vegetative, somnolent.

Brain dead.

The older man felt a hand grip his elbow. "Watch where you're going, Pa. We don't need two convalescents in the family."

He glanced at Adam and whispered a silent thanks for _that_ word. Convalescent.

Improving. Recovering.

 _Soon_ to be well.

"Thank you, son," Ben said as he straightened and watched where he next placed his foot. "I'm fine now."

Adam released his grip as he accepted the easy and oft-told lie.

"Sure thing, Pa."

"Mister Cartwright!" a young voice called out as they reached the hotel lobby floor.

Ben looked and saw that Roy and Genoa's sheriff were missing. In their place was a lovely young lady with black hair and near-black eyes. He approached her and held out his hand.

"I feel I should know you," he said.

The young woman smiled hesitantly. He noted her eyes were red-rimmed. "Juliet. Juliet Hallenberger. The restaurant at Eagle Station?"

"Ah, yes." Now he remembered. The lovely waitress. "You were coming here to spend time with your sister and her husband."

Juliet sobered instantly. "Those madmen shot him."

"The bank robbers?"

"Yes." Juliet looked over her shoulder. Beyond, in the dining room, another young woman with dark hair sat weeping, almost inconsolably. An older woman was at her side. "That's my sister, Jenny. She was at the bank. She saw everything."

Ben felt bile rise into his throat. "I thought her young man was going to make it?"

Julie started. "Oh yes. Jack's getting better. Jenny, well, she's upset about something she told the sheriff. She knows now she was wrong." Tears flooded Juliet's eyes. "Oh, Mister Cartwright can you ever forgive her?"

There was such pain in Juliet's young voice that it quite took him aback. "What do I need to forgive your sister for?"

The dark-haired beauty drew in a deep breath. Her eyes went to Adam who was standing at his side, looking as puzzled as he did.

"The death of your son."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hoss shifted. He'd parked in the chair by his little brother's bed and, as usual, it wasn't made for someone his size. Looking at Joe, lying there, so small and so still, a sad smile lifted the big man's lip. Nothing much was made for Joe's size either. It was funny how they were on both ends of Adam – whose size was just about right as men went – kind of like those three bears that there Goldilocks ran into. Reaching forward, he tugged the cover up closer to his brother's beardless chin. Hovering above him, Hoss switched his fingers to the curls on Joe's forehead. They felt like the finest stallion's coat. And that's what his little brother was – a fiery, fierce stallion. Pa'd taught him early on to be careful around them tall proud horses. He said, ' _Hoss, a stallion is a wonderful animal. Everything's fine with him until you get in his way or you challenge his dominance, even while just playing games.'_

Hoss snorted.

Little Joe sure as heck did hate to lose a game. And as to getting in his way, well, there weren't no stoppin' that boy when he wanted something, or thought he knew something better than you.

Joe was stopped now.

It was, well, like he weren't _Joe_ no more.

Hoss' big thumb rubbed across his brother's forehead as he called to him. "Joe. Hey, Little Joe. _Punkin_ ', it's me, old Hoss." He waited for a reaction. He knew how much Joe bucked at the pet name he had for him. "You wake up now. You hear?"

"Is the young man no better?" a concerned voice asked from the area of the door. Hoss reared up like a mama bear protecting her own and turned toward it. "How'd you get in here?" he asked the man who stood in the open doorway holding a new set of towels.

The hotel employee shrugged. "I apologize, sir, if I startled you. The door was open. The manager sent me up with a change of fresh linens."

Hoss eyed the man. He was pretty average and was dressed just like every other male staff member he'd seen moving around the hotel in a funny little coat with black pants and a cap. Several had been in since they'd brought Little Joe to his room.

"Sorry I shouted," he apologized. "Pa must have left the door unlocked accidentally when he and Adam left."

"Perhaps he thought this 'Adam' would lock it after him?"

"Yeah. That's it, most likely," the big man said as he turned back to his brother.

A moment later the man cleared his throat. "May I, sir?"

Hoss blinked. "What?"

"Enter the room."

"Oh, sure. If you just got towels you can lay them on the chest over there by the window."

"Thank you, sir." The man's pale eyes locked on him. "I'll attend to the washstand while I am here as well, if that's all right. I am sure the young man could use some cool clean water."

He nodded. "Thanks." Returning to his brother's side, Hoss picked Joe's limp hand up and held it. "You hear that, punkin', you got nice people lookin' out for you. Everyone wants you to get bet– "

There was a _clunk!_ A sigh.

And then a _thud._

Seconds later the middle-aged, middle-sized, middle-minded man crossed to the window and opened it, providing an avenue of escape in case he could not slip back out the door. Then he returned to the bed and shoved the hulk of Joseph Cartwright's middle brother out of the way with his foot. As he stared down at the silent helpless boy a sneer of triumph lifted Weston McCloud's upper lip.

Snatching a pillow from beneath Cartwright's head, he pressed it over the boy's face.

"Not everyone."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Come along with me, Mrs. Sutherland."

Ben glanced with sympathy over the head of Juliet's distraught sister at the dark-haired woman who was following close behind as they mounted the stairs. Juliet gave him a little encouraging smile. Her sister, Jenny, was sobbing uncontrollably. He'd been unable to convince the young woman that it had not been Joseph who had been hung, that – unfortunate as it was – the young man who _had_ been hung had at least deserved punishment. Jenny was the one who'd told the sheriff that it was Joseph who had shot the bank manager. The mistake had been understandable. He'd told her that. He'd told her a hundred things just like that and Adam had added a few dozen more.

In the end they decided the only thing that _would_ console her was seeing Joseph alive.

So here they were, headed up the staircase to the room where his son lay comatose. He only hoped the sight of Joseph as he was would not be enough to send Juliet's sister into another fit of guilt and despair. Both Juliet and Jenny were very young, twenty-two or three at most. Both had long lives ahead of them and he would not see them wracked and ruined by false guilt.

As they approached the room, Ben felt Adam's hand on his arm.

"Pa, the door's open."

They'd locked it. Hadn't they?

"Did you...?" he asked Adam. Terror gripped him at his son's negative shake of his head.

"I thought you..."

After ordering the women to return downstairs, they burst into the room. The sight that greeted them upon their arrival was _beyond_ horrifying. One of the staff knelt, his left leg on the side of Joe's bed.

He was holding a pillow over Joe's face.

When he saw them, the man dropped the pillow. They both reached for their guns as he did but found, since they had been sitting with Joe, that they weren't wearing them.

No such luck with the man who was attempting to murder his son.

They both knew it was Weston McCloud. Who else could it be? Bile rose in Ben's throat as he stared at this man who had left his youngest to die in the bank vault. McCloud had produced a weapon and trained it on Adam.

"One move, Mister Cartwright, and you'll lose _two_ sons tonight."

Ben's eyes went to Joseph. He was so still. But then again, he had to remind himself, he'd been still before. It didn't mean...

"Go!" the older man shouted. "Get out! I need to care for my son!"

"The dead one," McCloud sneered, "or the one I'm pointing my gun at?" The man's foot shot out and someone moaned. "Or maybe you mean the one here on the floor?"

Hoss!

"What have you done?"

"Sorry about the big one's head. It'll mend." Weston nodded toward Joe, "Unlike that one's body. He got what he deserved, the little brat!"

"You'd best go, McCloud," Adam growled. "The sheriff will be back any time and the hotel is full of guests."

The bank robber's eyes went from him to his father, to Hoss where he lay, and then back to Joe on the bed. The gun wavered between them, finally settling on Little Joe. "Damn kid can identify me."

Ben's breath caught in his chest. There _was_ a chance Joe was alive! Weston wouldn't threaten to shoot him otherwise.

"We can all do that now, McCloud," Adam said evenly. "And will, with pleasure."

The robber's anger and gun turned on Adam. Before he could say anything, Weston McCloud pulled the trigger. His son anticipated it and dove to the side nearly out of harm's way.

Nearly.

As Adam's blood ran red from a wound in his arm, the bank robber went to the window and opened it all the way. Stepping out, he waved his weapon in farewell.

"I'd be afraid that you'd try to follow me, Mister Cartwright, but with all three sons injured, I imagine you're a little preoccupied." McCloud saluted and then slipped out of the window and onto the roof.

Ben steeled himself to let him go. Weston was right. His place was _here._ There would be time later for vengeance.

For now he had to see to his boys.

"Pa, Joe..." Adam gasped as blood ran through his fingers.

Before Ben could turn, he heard his middle son's sigh and the words, "He's alive, Pa. Joe's still livin'."

The older man stared at his youngest for a full ten heartbeats, watching Joseph's chest rise and fall, before turning to Hoss who, head bleeding, had crawled to the bed to check on his brother. "Are you all right, son?"

Hoss touched his head. There was a sizable knot rising on the back of it. "Shucks, Pa. You know my skull's too thick for any old fancy vase to crack."

Ben allowed himself the luxury of a smile as he moved to Adam's side. His eldest had stumbled to a chair and was fumbling, trying to wrap a tourniquet between his heart and the bullet wound.

Dear Lord! All three of them under threat in one night!

"Pa. Leave it," Adam insisted as he took the strip of cloth in hand. "You can't let that man get away!"

"Your health and your brothers' is more important than revenge, son. The sheriff will – "

A shout resounded through the night. Outside the window there was a shout. It was returned in anger and then gunfire broke out. Ben went to the window and looked. Standing in the middle of the street was one of the hotel security guards.

Under his feet was the twitching body of Weston McCloud.

The man saw him looking. He reached down and opened his shirt and showed Ben the badge he wore.

Of course. Sheriff Whitaker and Roy had been called away, but the lawmen hadn't left them alone. One of Whitaker's deputies had been masquerading as a hotel security guard, keeping watch.

Watch over his son.

Ben leaned his head against the cool window glass. It was over. A second later he reeled back and looked at Joseph still unmoving, still silent as the grave.

No. It wasn't.

And if what Doctor Hanks believed was true...

It might _never_ be.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The long ride back to the Ponderosa was a desolate one. Once or twice along the way Joe opened his eyes, but there was nothing behind them – just a void where his feisty annoying little brother should have been. He muttered something a couple of times, but the words were unintelligible. The doctor told them they meant nothing.

Adam removed his hat and wiped sweat from his brow. He'd watched as Joe flinched several times when they went over rough parts of the trail. Sadly, Doctor Hanks had been thorough in his explanation of just what a 'vegetative' state was. Before they left Genoa he'd told them that someone in a deep coma often exhibited signs of consciousness. They might swallow, scream, laugh or cry. Maybe follow movements with their eyes. But none of these meant they were coming back to life. So long as they could get water into him, Joe's body might continue for twenty days or so.

After that, well, there was nothing anyone could do.

It was killing their father.

Adam replaced his hat before looking at the older man where he rode in the back of the wagon, supporting Joe's head on his lap. They'd hooked Buck and Cochise to the back of the wagon. The horse's heads were bowed too, as if they knew something was dreadfully wrong.

Doc Martin was stepping out of the front door as they arrived. Paul was a part of this family too, just like Hop Sing who trailed only a moment behind. There wouldn't _be_ a Ponderosa without Paul Martin and there certainly wouldn't be a Joe Cartwright. From the moment his tiny brother had entered the world early until now – bringing the fourteen-year-old home looking like a living corpse – life had been a fight. Sometimes, it was Joe who made it that way, but it seemed, sometimes, that life had it out for him. It was either going to break him or make him strong.

Trouble was, there was only so much a man could take.

Adam glanced at his father as he dismounted and shook hands with the physician. His father's step was unsure. Paul caught him by the shoulder as he stopped and spoke a few words of concern, which Pa tossed off.

Looked like Ben Cartwright was just about at the breaking point.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Paul Martin shook his thermometer and inserted it between Joe Cartwright's still lips. It didn't look good. Ben had explained that the boy had been trapped without fresh oxygen for over thirteen hours, almost half a day. He'd never heard of anyone surviving that long without oxygen. But then again, here Joe was, still breathing. If anyone could triumph over such a trial, it would be Joseph Francis Cartwright who didn't know the meaning of 'can't'.

Still, he didn't want to give the boy's already grieving father false hope.

Ben was holding Joe's hands in his own, leaning forward over the bed on the opposite side.  
"Well?" he asked, his expectant face turned toward him.

Paul thought carefully of what he was about to say. "I can't dispute Doctor Hanks findings, Ben. The boy is near death."

The man before him seemed to wither. "I... Paul, I thought..."

"You thought I would tell you Joe was going to be all right."

"I... _hoped_ you would."

Paul rounded the bed. Standing by his friend, he placed a hand on his shoulder and waited until Ben released Joe's hands and swiveled to look at him.

"I can't dispute Doctor Hanks findings according to medical science, old friend, but," he glanced at the unconscious boy, so young, so much the seat of his father's hopes and expectations, "but I believe there are one or two things Doctor Hanks failed to take into account when making his prognosis. One or two things, Ben, that can make all the difference in the world as to whether or not Joe pulls through."

Ben glanced at his son and then back; his near-black eyes puzzled. "Paul, what are you saying?"

"First of all, Doctor Hanks doesn't _know_ Joe. I do. If there is a way, that young man will fight to come back to you. And you, Ben, and Adam and Hoss, you will fight like grizzlies not to let him go." He paused. "Also, Doctor Hanks strikes me as a man of science."

"Yes?"

"Not of faith."

"Are you saying, Paul, that it really _is_ up to God this time?"

Paul Martin laughed. "Here's a secret we old country physicians hesitate to tell – its _always_ up to God. We just help Him a little along the way." The older man sobered as he looked at his young patient. " _In those days Hezekiah became mortally ill,"_ he quoted. _"And Isaiah the prophet, the son of Amoz came to him and said to him, 'Thus says the Lord, 'Set your house in order, for you shall die and not live.' Then he turned his face to the wall and prayed to the Lord, saying, 'Remember now, O Lord, I beseech You, how I have walked before You in truth and with a whole heart and have done what is good in Your sight."_ He squeezed his friend's shoulder before releasing it. "God heard a good man's prayer. He gave Hezekiah fifteen more years. You know as well as I do, Ben, that sometimes you have to beat on the bad judge's door," Paul added with a smile.

They both turned at the sound of a soft knock. It was Hoss.

"Say Paul, Hop Sing's got a fresh pot of coffee and some sandwiches downstairs. He says you ain't et yet today."

The physician passed a hand over his eyes. "No. I was at the Murphy's delivering a baby when your telegram arrived. I didn't think there was any time to lose so I came straight here."

"Is there something you can do for Joe?"

His father answered for the doctor as he shifted onto the bed beside Hoss' fourteen-year-old brother. "Pray, son," the older man said, his voice barely above a whisper. "That's all any of us can do.

"Pray."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was late and his older sons were in the great room along with Paul Martin. Ben was sitting on Joseph's bed, his back against the headboard, holding his son's still form. He'd been having words with his Lord when he'd fallen asleep. The sound of laughter drifting up the stairs had brought him back to the present. For some, that sound would have been blasphemy. With someone so cherished so _ill_ in the house, it would have made them angry, and maybe rightfully so. How _dare_ someone laugh when a young boy – a child, really – lay so close to death? But if there was one thing the West taught a man it was that life and death walked the same knife-edge. There wasn't a day when he sent his sons out to do the daily work of a ranch that word might not come back telling him they were dead. Broncos bucked and men fell to their deaths. Rusty nails pierced skin and men died in agony. Cattle stampeded. Horses shied and kicked breaking bones, which brought infection. If he worried about it every time the boys went out, well then, he wouldn't have been white-haired, he would have been insane. A man couldn't carry that kind of worry. He had to let it go. Had to give it to someone else.

Had to give it to _God._

If there was anything Ben hoped he had instilled in his boys it was the deep, abiding faith a man needed to carry on no matter what life handed him. No matter how hard the day. No matter how _impossible_ the obstacle to overcome. No matter the cruelty of men and the wickedness of the world they created.

No matter three dead wives.

Ben's hand brushed Joseph's dark brown curls.

No matter _one_ dying son.

Closing his eyes again and resting his head on the board behind him, Ben's thoughts flew once again to Heaven. He'd railed. He ranted. He'd cried out on his knees until he was exhausted, arguing with his Heavenly father, telling Him _he_ was ready to go if He would just spare Joseph. He reminded Him how young the boy was – of all the potential his son had, of Joseph's quick mind, his winning smile; his easy and amiable ways.

Like the One who had created him _didn't_ know

God had laughed, of course, reminding _him_ of Joseph's stubborn streak, of his son's quixotic temper and unpredictable nature. Of _all_ the times the boy had brought him to the brink of an anger so deep he didn't know what to do with it.

' _That's how it is with a father and his children'_ , God said softly.

 _I know._

In the end, Ben had abandoned his position on the floor and crawled into the bed with his son. Lifting Joe's body he'd slipped in behind him. He held the boy now like he had when he'd been a child suffering from a fever. The older man opened his eyes and looked down at his youngest boy. Joe was growing thinner. _Weaker_ by the day. He'd had very little sustenance in over three days, nothing but water and the small bit of broth Hop Sing had managed to work between his lips once they got him home. It wasn't fair. This _suffering._

It wasn't fair to Joe.

Tears ran down the older man's cheeks as he pressed his son's curly head into his chest.

"Father," he said softly, "this child isn't mine. He's yours. He's suffering, Lord, and it's more than I can bear. Please..." Ben drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Please, Father, if its not your will to heal Joseph then...take him _now_. Let my boy be at peace."

The tears were flowing like a rain-swollen river now, raging in a torrent that could not be checked. They trailed down his face and fell onto Joseph's, wetting his son's thick black lashes and traveling down the pallid, too-gaunt cheeks. Ben reached for one of them. He meant to brush it away when he saw – movement. The older man blinked, uncertain. Yes...

 _Yes!_

Joe's eyes were moving behind the lids. His son tried to swallow, winced, and then those glorious green eyes opened and looked at him.

Really _looked_ at him.

The boy's cracked lips parted and out of them came the most precious word Ben had ever heard.

"Pa..."


	17. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

 _But I will sacrifice unto thee with the voice of thanksgiving; I will pay that that I have vowed. Salvation is of the Lord. Jonah 2:9_

Adam Cartwright leaned on his father's desk, rereading the letter Pa had received from Sheriff Whitaker that morning concerning the late Weston McCloud and Stanfield Hawks'. The lawman had backtracked on both men to see if there was any connection between them. It seemed they _had_ known each other, as McCloud had been in Hawks' employ at one time, but there was nothing to connect the crooked businessman to the robbery or any of Weston's other crimes. In the end, Hawks had dropped his case against them and relinquished the right to the land he'd claimed to own.

And _that_ spoke volumes more than any paper trail the sheriff could have followed.

The interesting thing was, Stanfield Hawks knew Hoyle and DeLoyd Beaumont as well. He actually owned the Louisiana plantation where their father worked. Adam shook his head as he reread that part. _Another_ lie. The elder Beaumont wasn't dead as the brothers had told them. He was actually the overseer of the plantation and well-off in his own right. Which begged the question as to why his sons felt the need to rob other people of their hard-earned money when they had plenty of money of their own.

They'd probably never know.

Adam folded the letter and put it back in its envelope. According to Sheriff Whitaker Del and Hoyle had pulled a number of heists in Louisiana over the last year or so. It had become too hot for them there. So hot, in fact, that their father sent them away and then set about negotiating with Hawks, asking his boss to obtain a pardon for them from the governor. For whatever reason, the brothers had chosen to come to Nevada. Weston McCloud came about that time too, looking for men who would work for him. McCloud's specialty? Robbing banks. DeLoyd and his brother came highly recommended, or so one of the surviving robbers told them, and the three of them soon joined forces. Apparently they had been considering a raid on the Ponderosa before Joe fell into their laps. That occasioned the formation of plan 'B' in which the trio would court and then use Joe and the stolen bank draft to get them into the new 'guaranteed secure' Genoa City bank vault. One of the men Sheriff Whitaker had taken into custody told him that Weston McCloud meant to murder Joe all along. Apparently McCloud was the man who had wanted to deflower Madeline O'Malley. He resented Joe's interference and for that he was willing to kill a fourteen-year-old boy.

Adam Cartwright shook his head, disgusted. With a sigh, he let the envelope fall to the top of his father's desk.

How could someone who was such a _nothing_ cause their family so much grief?

Weston McCloud was a nobody from a nowhere town who had made himself something of a somebody by pretending that's what he was. Apparently McCloud had worked average ordinary jobs where he was mostly ignored – bank clerk, accountant, night watchman, even custodian – all the while acquiring the knowledge he would need to round up a bunch of desperados and wreck havoc on the banking industry in Nevada. Until Genoa, Weston had never actually taken part in one of the robberies. He'd always remained on the sideline. One of Sheriff Whitaker's 'guests' told him he didn't understand why it had been different this time. Adam turned and looked at his little brother where he sat in their father's chair, bundled up in front of the hearth with a thick plaid blanket wrapped tightly around his shrunken frame.

 _He_ did.

The nobody from a nowhere town that no one noticed had made a success – an _industry_ almost – out of 'ordinary'. Wisely, Weston McCloud had chosen small to middle-size banks to rob in not too big, but not too little towns. He'd taken just _enough_ money to make the risk worthwhile, but not so much that the law found it worth the effort to run him to ground.

Until this last time.

Until someone mentioned a name that carried with it a big enough pay-out that Weston could retire from crime as a middle-size, middle-weight, middle-aged _wealthy_ man with money and power that weren't his own.

Until someone mentioned the Cartwrights.

His pa had known all along that he and his brothers would be targets for unscrupulous men – Benjamin Cartwright, timber baron, cattle king, owner of mines that oozed precious metals from their rock-hard veins. _He'd_ been the safest as a boy as he was most often at his father's side and the empire his pa was to build was in its infancy. Hoss had started young with the hands, mastering quickly the physical side of the work they had to do, so he was always in a crowd. And, of course, there was the simple fact of Hoss' size. It was a rare man who would take on a boy who was just shy of six feet and built like an ox.

No, it was Joe who was the most in danger.

They all knew it though none of them said it aloud and so they all kept close watch over him. Adam chuckled. Poor kid, if you added Hop Sing, he had _four_ mother hens! It was probably the reason why Joe was just next to being spoiled – most likely why he rebelled too. Adam ran a hand along the back of his neck and glanced at his sleeping brother again. He wasn't sure what he thought of the belief that a name had power, but sometimes it seemed Marie's choice to call his brother _Petit Joseph_ had branded the boy. Joe was small in stature; a scrawny _vulnerable_ kid whose mere existence begged other men to take out their own fears of inadequacy on him. Just so they could prove they were nothing like him. The black-haired man snorted as he move toward the hearth. No. They were nothing like him.

There was _no one_ like Joe.

Taking a seat on the settee table, Adam looked hard at his baby brother where he was curled up in their father's chair. It had been six weeks since Joe had awakened from the coma. The poor kid had been through the mill since then. As Doc Martin expected he'd developed a case of pneumonia shortly afterward and there'd been another period there where they thought they might lose him. Standard for Joe he'd fought his way through, but the course of the disease – and the coma – had left him weak and irritable. He tired easily. Because of that, he wasn't up to his usual chores and was confined to the house a good bit of the time. Of late, it seemed he'd given up. Even when Hoss asked him to help with something in the barn, Joe refused, saying he was too weary. Sometimes you'd catch him staring at nothing and unaware he was doing it. Worst of all, Joe still had a hard time putting words together and that was probably the cruelest blow for an energetic, now _fifteen_ -year-old boy, who before had never stopped talking. The Doc said it should get better with time.

 _Should._

Adam slammed a hand down on the table. It simply wasn't _fair!_

"Mmmm... You gotta make so much noise?" a sleepy voice asked.

"Sorry, Joe. Didn't mean to wake you, buddy," he said with chagrin.

Joe's wide green eyes blinked. He straightened up in the chair and then asked, "Pa home yet?"

"Not yet." Adam stood. "You hungry? Hop Sing's got some cold beef and – "

"No thanks."

Adam's eyes took in his brother's skinny wrists where they showed out of the cuffs of a flannel shirt grown too big to fit. He noted as well the way Joe's cheeks fell in.

"Look, Joe, you gotta eat."

"I _do_ eat," he insisted with a scowl. " _When_ I'm hungry."

" _More_ ," Adam added. "You've got to eat _more_."

His brother shifted uncomfortably. Joe had a sore hip too. Shortly after he'd began to show real progress in his recovery, Pa had let him out to do simple chores. Well, Joe being Joe, he'd overdone it – just to prove that he could – and had ended up lying flat on his face in the barn.

The kid gloves had _really_ gone on after that.

Hence the bundling.

Joe ignored his words. "Where's Hoss? Is he back yet?"

Adam knew where this was going. "No. I'm afraid, you're stuck with me." He paused. It was probably pointless. Still... "Do you want to talk about it?"

His brother's eyes narrowed and his fingers gripped the arms of the chair. He was getting angry.

Still, Joe's nostrils hadn't flared yet, so there was hope.

"It? _It_ , what?" he demanded.

"What happened. How you feel about it. What you're afraid of."

The boy practically shot up out of the chair "I ain't afraid of _nothin'!"_

Adam wanted to jump up and gather his injured brother in his arms and carefully return him to his seat. Instead he remained where he was.

He remained _calm._

"Then prove it. Pa said you can do some simple chores again. Get out of that blanket and up out of that chair and _prove_ that you're not afraid!"

"I wouldn't be _in_ this chair if you three would stop coddlin' me like I was some whelp barely made it out of his mother alive!" Joe shot back.

Pa wouldn't like it. They were shouting at each other.

Adam's lips pursed.

Good. It was _good_ to see some color in those cheeks.

Joe was standing, breathing hard. The blanket was at his feet now. "You got somethin' else to say, big brother?"

"Yes." He knew Joe's answer was only part of the story. They'd tried to get him to talk about what had happened. He was having no part of it. "Is that it, then? Coddlin' as you say, doesn't keep you from helping Hoss in the barn or riding along with pa to town. You haven't been to town in – "

"I don't want to go to town 'cause... Cause..." Joe wobbled. His brother looked surprised.

Then he went down.

It was a good thing Joe'd left that blanket athis feet.

A second later Adam had him sitting again. "I'm sorry, Joe. I just –"

Joe batted his hand away and turned his face into the chair. "Yrr rgghhht," he mumbled.

"What?"

"You're right!" his little brother shouted as he pressed his body back. "There! Are you happy?"

Adam took a seat on the table again. "Well, yes _and_ no."

There were unspent tears in those green eyes. " _Yes?"_

"Yes, I'm happy you admitted I'm right but, no, I'm not happy that you're afraid."

The nostrils finally flared – for about five seconds before the tears fell. Joe looked down at his bony hands that were linked between his bony knees.

"I...can't..." His brother drew as deep a breath as his punished lungs would allow. "I can't trust myself anymore, Adam."

Adam's black brows peaked. That answer was _not_ the one he had expected. Joe wasn't afraid of menacing men stealing him from his family, or of being trapped in the dark without air and almost dying – though there was plenty of fodder there for nightmares and he'd had them – or even of the fact that he could have been hung for a crime he didn't commit. His young brother was scared...

Of himself.

How had they all missed it?

"Del and Hoyle," Joe began, sucking in snot and air. "I trusted them, Adam. I thought... No, I _knew_ they were good men." Adam watched as a tear splashed on the back of his brother's hand. A second later Joe looked up. "If I was wrong about them, how can I be _right_ about anything?"

"They fooled us all, Joe."

"But you didn't spend hours – whole days – with them like I did!" His voice was quiet. "Especially with Hoyle."

They hadn't told him about Hoyle's fate – or Del's for that matter – until a week or so back. The Doc hadn't recommended it. Even then, when Joe heard what had happened to Hoyle, it set him back for a couple of days.

"I wanted so much to believe what they told me about who..." His brother drew in another gasp of air. "...about who they were and where they came from, and about how much they wanted me to go with them." Joe's eyes flicked to his face and then away. "They _listened_ to me. They were interested in my opinion. They thought I was smart and would be a good man to have around."

Joe's words were like a slap in the face. A richly deserved one, he had to admit.

"Unlike me."

Joe blinked back more tears. "I don't want to hurt you, Adam."

"You have, Joe," he said softly, "you have. But it's a 'hurt' I merit." For a second he was silent. "I blame myself, you know, for everything that happened to you."

His brother frowned. "How come?"

The question was so simple and came so easily it all but stunned him into silence.

"How come? Because I _wouldn't_ listen to you. Because I – your own brother – made you feel like you were stupid and wrong and you ran away." He sucked in guilt and shame that threatened to rain through his eyes. "God, Joe! You ran away because of me and you almost died!"

Inexplicably, Joe was smiling.

"What are you grinning about?" he growled.

"You." Joe stifled a giggle. "Mister _high-and-mighty-I-got-a-college-education-back-East_ , Adam Cartwright. I guess you don't know everything."

"What do you mean?" he asked, wary.

Joe looked off toward the window. "I'd pretty much cooled down before I took off with Del and Hoyle. Sure, I was mad at you, but that ain't nothin' I haven't been a hundred times before."

Adam felt a little weight lift off his shoulders. "So why did you go?"

" _You_ oughta know, if anyone would," Joe said, looking sheepishly out from under his fringe of lambswool curls.

He shook his head. "No. I have no idea."

"Well, first of all, I wanted to be a man. Able to make my own choices and do what I thought best, you know? Second," his little brother ducked his head, "I wanted to see where my mama was born. I keep wonderin' if it's as pretty as she was."

Adam sensed there was more. "And third?"

Joe shrugged. "I guess I wanted to be like you."

That _did_ stun him to silence – for about ten heartbeats. "You what?"

"Traveling. Seeing all those places you only read about. Seeing the world. Only," Joe looked around the great room, "I found out I don't like it so much. I think I'm happy right here."

He was still trying to find a balance. His ornery little brother wanted to be like _him?_

"That's great, Joe, but you can't hide in the house forever. You have to..." he hesitated. "You have to forgive yourself, just like I have to forgive myself."

Those green eyes were locked on him. "For what?"

"Being stupid." Adam laughed at his brother's expression.

Joe's eyes widened. "If that don't take the cake!"

"What?"

Behind him, he heard the door to the ranch house open. The footsteps told him it was Pa, followed closely by Hoss.

"What have you two been up to?" their father asked as he headed for them.

"Big brother just admitted he was stupid!" Joe whooped.

"I did no such thing," he corrected him with a scowl. "I merely said we both acted in a stupid manner."

"Meaning what? How can a man act 'stupid, if he _ain't_ stupid?"

"' _Isn't_ ', Joseph," their father corrected.

"He's got you there, older brother!" Hoss said with a smile

"Stupid is as stupid does," Joe chimed, grabbing his sides as the girlish giggling rose to a crescendo.

"You take it easy with that laughter, young man," their father chided, stifling his own and forcing a stern look. "Those lungs of yours aren't healed."

Joe was sucking in air and sputtering. "No, Pa, but they sure are happy!"

Adam exchanged a look with their father and Hoss. Something passed between them. You might have called it 'delight'.

It was the first time they had heard that laugh in this house in months.

Paul Martin, however, was not going to be pleased. Joe was beet red and gasping for air.

Adam watched his father cross to Joe and lean over. The older man's hand wrapped around his brother's thin wrist and pulled. Joe's hand was thin too and it slipped straight through –

Tossing their father off-balance so he crashed to the floor.

"Pa!" both he and Hoss shouted.

The older man looked stunned. Then he looked at his gasping, giggling curly-headed boy and started to laugh as well – deep, heartfelt, bellows of laughter that lifted the rafters and brought tears to Ben Cartwright's near-black eyes.

What was there to do but join in?

When Hop Sing came in ten minutes later and found them all red-faced and gasping like fish fresh out of water, the Chinese man wondered aloud if they had all lost their minds.

Adam didn't wonder. He didn't care. His little brother had survived his days in the belly of the whale – first in the vault, and then two more days in what seemed might prove to be an unending darkness. The black-haired man glanced at his snorting father and his two red-faced brothers and then at Hop Sing.

The Chinese man had tears trailing down his face.

You know what they say?

The family that laughs together...


End file.
